


Killing and Sewing

by EnvelopedThoughts



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 04:15:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7028152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnvelopedThoughts/pseuds/EnvelopedThoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon/Sansa relationship loosely following show cannon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Long March Home

Jon was surprised himself. There he was, riding for Winterfell. Sansa strode along side him sitting upright and regal.

He still woke every day in a slight disbelief over how much his life had been altered in the short time since his resurrection. He often thought he would awake in Castle Black, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, and proceed with the day-to-day life he had known. The cool fingers of death trickled down the back of his neck as he thought on the event that changed that once more.

Then there was Sansa. Beautiful and sweet, yet every bit the ruler that could claim victory for her and her people.

The sweetest of all days in his second life was the day she arrived at Castle Black. Of all the Starks he ever thought he stood a chance of seeing again, he never once imagined Sansa. But then there she was- the blazing torch of hope that he thought had long been put out. She was like a ghost, or an illusion. He treaded carefully towards her in disbelief. Her hair, like a glowing flame, seemed to be the only other color that existed in a world of gray. Finally he was close enough to see her breath in the winter air. She made the first move and flew like a little bird into his arms. He gladly obliged and lifted her, letting gravity do all the work in holding them together. Her rib cage dug into various stab wounds, which no doubt was causing him immense pain, yet he had scarcely noticed. He had felt her warm face against his.

Time slowed. He was in a dream. She was tall, perhaps slightly taller than him, but she was thin and would always seem very small in his grasp. He had remembered those arms of hers that never seemed to end.

Jon thought perhaps his immediate attachment to her was due to the fact that she was the only family he had left, and it was his sworn duty to protect her. He decided that was abundantly true, and nothing else.

He had watched her delicately sip the hot cup of soup, feeling glad he could offer her something decent. There was something so childlike about the way she did it. She could still be gentle, and for some reason that made him believe in goodness in the world again that could not be tarnished.

The Stark girl was heir to Winterfell. She was uniquely lovely, it was known throughout the seven kingdoms since her birth. Her eyes were blue like the summer sky and caught every light in the room, as did her hair. He reminded himself not to stare. 

There was something about her that called out to something deep within him. Jon felt as much when her hand sought his. The simple notion scrambled his insides in a few fleeting moments. He instinctively clutched her hand tighter. It was as if lightning was flowing through her into his skin, bringing him to life all over again.

Jon reminded himself not to die again, but what other option did he have? He'd die before letting the Bolton bastard have Sansa, but she herself seemed resolved in taking their home back. He couldn't well protect her from the South. 

And if Ramsey should fall, who would replace him? Another man who had betrayed Jon’s family and allowed horrible things to happen to them? No, he wouldn’t be able to bare the guilt had he run.

The march was growing long and tiresome. The sky shifted from its usual blinding white gray to a dark mass with a touch of blue.

After a while, Jon had begun to realize how problematic running away with Sansa would have been. He would have to spend every moment with her to keep her safe. He still yearns for that possibility sometimes, normally as he is falling asleep, and always feels rather ashamed of himself when he wakes.

 

Sansa was grateful for the cold. Her body was tired and bruised. She was a good rider, she was a Stark, but the whole experience with Ramsey made her doubt she’d ever find comfort or joy in it ever again. The cold numbed her skin. She barely gave a thought to the bruises between her legs. The frigid air had since helped her ignore them. The cold also made people shiver, so it masked her visible fear and anxiety. She kept her chin up, ever the leading queen of the people she told herself to be. The cold also kept her body covered completely, so she wouldn’t have to worry about anyone- especially Jon- seeing her scars, thus concealing her greatest weakness.

She thought back on the day she saw Jon again. She stood there, as dirty and worn and broken as she had ever been, in a courtyard full of men. She knew these men scarcely saw women. They gawked at her and whispered amongst themselves. Sansa assured herself they were only wondering who she was, yet it still made her ever so uncomfortable.

Then there he was, a ghost from the past standing atop a balcony. 

Sansa’s entire body stiffened. She sucked in a breath of harsh cold air out of the snowy sky, standing there paralyzed as he slowly walked down the wooden steps. He looks very confused, she studied. Is he wondering why I’ve come here? Will he welcome me with open arms? Gods, I was so awful to him. I didn’t even say goodbye to him when I was told I was likely never to see him again. Why would I have expected him to love me enough to protect me? I wonder if he even considers me family… I certainly didn’t before everything changed. What a stupid little girl not to appreciate the man who would one day be all you had left.

Jon had stopped in front of her. His expression changed from confused to shock to… hope? Relief? Whatever it had been, it was indication enough. Sansa darted towards him as fast as she could manage. He lifted her into the air. She felt a strange feeling within her- like she was home again, though she had never seen this place in her life.

Now they all marched at her request. Sansa relished in the bit of power she felt from that. As someone who had felt helpless most of her life, she finally was being given a chance to prove her strength.

Yet at the same time, she felt very terrible, and very afraid. Her pride and her foolishness had only ever led her to another blow. She couldn’t help but feel embarrassed telling her story to Jon, only seeing the obvious traps and her idiocy in hindsight. He never once blamed her though.  He tells her all he can to reassure her, but it doesn’t.

Sansa looked at Jon. He was looking at her. Whatever qualities she lacked as a ruler, he surely made up for. Jon marched for her, but these people marched for Jon. She could swear he copied exact sentences from Father every now and then. That always brought her a slice of joy, which was a rare commodity in this time of war. He looked very handsome in the cloak she had made him. Brienne had questioned her on whether it was worth it to spend so much money on the furs and the fabrics for these projects that she might not have the time to finish. Sansa smiled to herself. Brienne couldn’t have been more wrong. It was worth it.

Be humble, like Father... like Jon. It always caught up to her. She had treated him only slightly better than her mother had. She loved her mother, and saw the obvious pain having Jon around had grieved her. Her mother was the Lady she would have become, and her mother told her, since as long as she could remember, that she would have even grander, warmer prospects. The fairy tale had danced around her imagination as she sewed her girly patterns and read her girly stories. She cursed herself for the millionth time for being such a stupid little girl.

She still felt sad for her brother, backed into a wall of ice.

Yet she supposes she relates to him in some way. They both bore scars. She hadn’t seen his either. She found herself hoping she might one day. She would later wonder why that thought had made her feel a bit strange. Night had fallen and they stopped to set up camp. Jon dismounted and caught Sansa’s horse by the reigns.


	2. War Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and scars.

Jon trudged exhaustedly back into the tent after a tireless evening of training. He was glad to find Sansa, covered to her neck in animal pelts, sleeping soundly with one arm outstretched over her splayed auburn hair. Ghost was posted guard at the foot of her bed.

“Good boy” Jon said, scratching the wolf’s neck. Ghost relished in his affection then immediately trotted over to Jon’s bed, curled up, and fell asleep next to it.

Jon found himself staring at her mouth. Her lips were moving but no sound came out. His eyes trailed over to her hand, and something startled him. Her wrist barred a horrible purple and green stain. His heart sunk to his stomach. He hoped that maybe it was minor bruise or possibly a rash or something else, anything else. He ever so gently grazed his fingers along it.

Sansa flinched. Her eyes pressed shut. Jon reached for her face.

“Sansa?”

“Please…” she said in a way that shattered something within him.

“Please what?”

“Please… please don’t.” Jon took his hand away. 

“Sansa.”

“Don't!” She cried, convulsion driving through her. She threw her arms about the place, red hair mixed with tears and sweat clinging to her face and neck. 

“Sansa!” Jon exclaimed, he knelt down and reached for her, putting his arms beneath her back as he pulled her upright into a sitting position. “It’s me, Sansa, it’s Jon. You’re safe, Sansa, no one will hurt you.” A few short gasps came before her breath steadied as she melted into his form. Her sleeves had fallen to her elbows when she embraced him back. Her arms and neck were riddled in bruises and cuts and what appeared to be burns. Sansa sobbed violently into his neck. 

“I didn’t want you to see them.” She admitted.

“Why?” 

“I didn’t want to you to see me as a victim. I didn’t want anyone to know how he ruined me.” 

“Ruined you? You could never be ruined, Sansa.” She pulled away from him. He stared at her face. She looked at her hands.

“I have never done anything heroic. I agreed to be his wife thinking I could be something. I was convinced I could _do_  something. I’ve only ever been a stupid little girl, a piece of property to be used however anyone saw fit. I have since longed to change that- you made me believe that I could. But still- I am tarnished." Her forehead fell into her her hand. "And I am disgraced."

"Unspeakable atrocities have come to our family. That should not define _you_."

"Yes, but your scars are of daggers, they remind those who know of the miracle you are. Mine only bring me shame. I was weak, defenseless, defeated, and so... so stupid.” She began to cry again, gently now, unlike moments before.

“Listen to me.” Jon commanded, lifting her chin up so he could look into her eyes. “You are more than your scars. You are more than any so-called defeat. You never failed, Sansa. You had no one to protect you. No wise council. No family. And yet- here you are!" Her eyes lowered, but Jon held her still. "You’re alive, despite it all. You refused surrender. You are a miracle yourself in many, many ways. Only a complete imbecile of a man would see you the way you are seeing yourself."

“I did fail, I failed everyone.” Sansa spat, his final sentence falling on deaf ears. “Arya was clever, she got away, and she hated me. She loved you so much. I was the one who stood there on the platform like a fool while my father was beheaded- our honorable, good father- for _treason_.” The last word came out in a hiss that scarcely escaped her lips. “I was married into the family that killed him while my mother and brother were being murdered. Then I married into the family that murdered _them_.” Sansa looked down again. “Maybe this is my punishment.”

“Never say that.” Jon whispered fervently, still holding her chin, lifting it with slight force so she would look at him again. “You’re right, Arya is a clever girl. She would understand you had no choice. She would never blame you for such things. No one with any amount of compassion would. She loves you. You are loved. Never let that slip your mind, it will save your life. You are loved.” He tried to look away, but she held her gaze on him, blue eyes shining in the lantern light. “You didn’t deserve this. This was not supposed to happen.”  He knew he must give voice to the question boiling in his chest. “What happened in Winterfell?”

 

She loosened her cover gown from the tie at her chest and slipped it over her head and shoulders, leaving only her slip. She heard Jon’s breath hitch. She sat upright in her slip silently for a minute as he looked over her arms and neck.

His eyes shook. He touched the small X on the center of her chest, just beneath her neck. She turned her back to him and lifted her hair over her shoulder, revealing the large X scratched into her back. She could only imagine how gruesome it must have looked. She turned back, unsurprised by his horrified expression. Deep within his stormy eyes she saw a change from confusion- to a crazed anger- to sadness.

Sansa blushed hotly with embarrassment. Jon then reached out and gently touched the X on her chest again.

  
“Tell me everything. Let it all go…” he managed after a pregnant pause “I will take a piece of your pain and keep it with me. You need not bare it all yourself.”

Her words did not fail her. It spilled out of her like dragon fire. Her time as Lady Bolton had been stored in a stone safe deep within her mind, yet still she could recall it all as if it were happening still. Jon listened carefully, not saying a word, and never taking his eyes off her. She never took her eyes off her hands.

When she was done, she mustered up the courage to face him again. His lips were parted and his sad eyes had grown inches. His lips attempted to move, but no words were formed. He returned her to his arms. She let herself cry, but this time it was at least half a good cry. The kind of cry she forgot existed.

They talked long into the frigid night. The sun was rising now as the sky shifted from black to grey to silver. Sansa saw light shine through the entryway when Ghost woke up to find breakfast. Jon kissed her forehead and held her once more. She tried to release him after the appropriate amount of time but Jon didn't let go of her. It brought fresh tears to her eyes, but she decided against crying this time.

 

After at last pulling himself away, Jon walked heavily over to his bed.

Ramsay saw something of pure light and innocence and sought to ruin it, just to prove he could. Just to leave his mark on her. He didn’t succeed, but he made her believe he did.

 “Jon?” He was moments from drifting off. The sound of her timorous voice brought him to life again. 

“Yes Sansa?”

“I’m still afraid.”

“Me too. It would be foolish not to be.” Sansa fell quiet. He tried again. “How can I make it better?”

Sansa got up, walked over to his bed, and pulled open the animal skins covering him. It unnerved him, yet he made no motion to stop her.

“You smell just like home. I have this theory that it can protect me from nightmares.” He made space for her to make herself comfortable.

He watched and waited for her to close her eyes before he dared close his. Moments away from sleep again, and she sought his hand. He clasped both hands around her small palm and pulled it to his chest.

“Jon?”

“Sansa?” they opened there eyes and looked at each other.

“What happens if we fail?”

“We won’t find out.” Jon said sharply without a second thought.

Vengeance clouded over him as he felt her pulse. Blood rushed to his wounds as a reminder of what he was- what he was made of. They couldn’t fail. He could not allow that.

“When they woke me…” he started, “I was sure it was a mistake. I was sure I was trespassing somehow, being alive again. I had no purpose or fight left in me. I lost it in the blood- the life- it all trickled out of me and into the snow.” Jon was staring at the ceiling. He could feel Sansa’s eyes on him. “Then you appeared as if from thin air.” He looked back at her again, her sapphire eyes still heavy and swollen with tears. “My small Lady sister with  dirt on her face standing at the center of Castle Black, of all the places in the world.”

“I’m not small. I’m taller than you!” Sansa laughed. Jon smiled back at her. 

Though it was good to laugh, he felt the shadow of dread sweeping back over the both of them. Jon clutched her hand and waited for her breathing to slow.


	3. Pity

Sansa sewed at the small table in the center of the tent while Jon re-read messages from his banner men. She felt his eyes on her every so often. She would look over back to him now and then to catch his glance. He never failed to grace her with a look that was just shy of a sad smile.

“You don’t need to be pitying me constantly.” She said after the third or fourth time he was caught. Jon sat up.

“I’m not-“

“Yes you are.” She insisted. 

“No- I was just…” he trailed off. Ever the way with words.

“It doesn’t make me feel better. You know I didn’t want you to think anything less of me.”

“Less of you? What are you talking about? I’ve only ever told you…”

“I can take care of myself.” She wasn’t sure what had taken over her, but it was too late to stop it. “You keep staring at me like I’m a wounded dog in the woods.”

“Are you not?” She pursed her lips and let her eyes go cold. “Fine. I won’t look at you.”

Sansa went back to her sewing. She would have apologized, but he was looking at her again. She turned to meet his gaze. They stared at each other for a moment longer than she had intended. She almost had a sentence put together when a messenger arrived. 

“For you, my Lady.”

“Thank you” She sighed heavily. Sansa quickly attempted to hide the blue falcon seal, but doubtless Jon was already at attention.

 

_My Dearest Sansa,_

_I know your hatred of me has grown almost impenetrable,_

_But I want you to know I would have never willingly put you in harm’s way._

_Every day I pray that your forgiveness might grace me, but I know that it is far from what I deserve._

_I would do anything to protect you and your family. You know how I adored your mother, now I feel as if my pull to you is stronger._

_I have grown protective over you, my sweet niece._

_I have never known such pain as when I learned your mother had left this world, until the day you met me in Mole’s Town and I learned of your wounds._

_I discovered too late the monster Ramsey was. It was my greatest mistake, for which I could not feel more ashamed._

_I understand your anger. I would do anything to undo what has been done to you._

_I don’t know what I would become if anything were to happen to you._

_That is why I have convinced the Lord of the Vale to grant you the troops you need. They are yours and yours alone._

_Please meet with me in the nearest town. Send me a raven and I will follow you anywhere._

_I will give you everything I can offer you at your request._

_I will never let anything bad happen to you again, Sansa, I promise._

_Let me watch over you. Let me keep you safe…_

 

Jon snatched the letter from her hands before she could finish reading. He put one hand on her forehead with an outstretched arm, keeping her away from him. With the other hand he held the parchment closely to his face. His eyes poured over the words and his lips moved as he read. Sansa tried to leave, Jon blocked her.

“How dare y-”

“What is the meaning of this?” he held the letter up to her with both hands clutching the sides. _Ah yes, Father again. How fitting._

 

Jon stared her down, careful with his anger. Her wide blue eyes searched his for sympathy. 

“What do you mean?”

“This, right here. You met with him? That’s how you knew about the Blackfish? You lied?" She turned pale as snow then red as blood. 

"Why would you do that?” 

“Where does it say that? About the Blackfish?”

“At the bottom. Last few sentences.”

“I didn't finished the let….”

“Sansa!” He did not wait to hear her argument. She would hear his. “What if something had happened to you? I need to know everywhere you go and everything you do. I am responsible for you, it’s my job to take care of you.” He set down the scroll and ran his fingers through his scalp.

“Why?”

“What do you mean 'why?'” Any consternation she may have initially displayed turned to stone.

“Brienne was with me.” 

“You should have told me. And you certainly should have told me about the army that is being raised up for you. We have men that are still boys here. We have wildling women fighting. We have their children unable to feed themselves trying to be healers. Your army would have kept them safe.” Sansa looked down at her hands. “And what’s more, you ran off to meet with a dangerous man who is infatuated with you-“

“Infatuated with me?”

“Oh spare me. It's written right there." 

“What do you mean? Where?”

“You lied. To the entire council.”

“I don’t trust the council!”

“But do you trust me?” His eyes burrowed into hers desperate for an answer. With her stony expression, he came up empty. “You had all the time in the world to tell me, and you didn’t.”

“No.”

“No what?”

“No I didn’t trust you.” Jon closed his mouth with nothing more to say, though the wounded expression on his face spoke volumes. “Not fully, but I trust you now.” She said at last.

 

The callouses on her fingers from the many hours of sewing itched. 

“I should have told you.” She let out a long exhale. “But I don’t trust Little Finger. I didn’t want him to take advantage of you. I was trying to keep you safe.”

“Keep me safe?” 

“Yes. He is a mastermind. He is powerful and manipulative and dangerous.”

“So what you’re telling me is that I’m too daft to know him. I understand.”

“No, I didn't mean to-”

“Yes, you did.” 

“I don’t know if he’s even telling the truth, to be quite honest.”

“He is.”

“How would you know?” _I most certainly shouldn’t provoke…_

“Well, as stupid as I may be. He loved lady Catelyn, and you are...” He trailed off.

“Fine. I’ll talk to Little Finger.”

“No, you will not.”

“What?”

“You must never see him again.”

“Of course I must, we need him.”

“Sansa, this man put you into a dog pit. Although I don’t doubt his unholy attachment to you, I haven't an idea what his intentions are. And there is still something you are keeping from me.”

“You don't know me as well as you let yourself believe.”

“That’s enough.”

“No, I’m telling you that’s enough. You are not my father.”

“Yes, but Father is not here!” he shouted. Sansa stared blankly and thought carefully. When she spoke again, she echoed the voice of her composed lady mother. 

“How do you plan to get the Vale army then?” Sansa said. Jon sighed.

“We won’t need them.”

“You just said-”

“Sansa, are you listening to me at all? If you don’t trust him, how am I supposed to? No doubt he has the army- but what will he ask for in return? Winterfell?” he paused, “You?” Sansa had considered this. She wanted scream that she wasn’t stupid either.

“But the children you spoke of…”

“Believe me Sansa, I would want nothing better than a full army and no children around. But who is to say they won't simply slaughter whomever is the victor? If the Vale did help win the battle, better-armed men at the control of Little Finger would surround us. Please think upon that.” His condescending tone was that of Father's now. 

“Fine.”

Sansa sat down and went back to her woman's work as if Jon had already walked out of the room. She could still feel his eyes on her until he finally exited the tent.

Hours after Jon had gone, Sansa sat there, sewing away.  _Just sew all your troubles away little dove…_  The voice in her head made her nauseous. Even it was condescending. She wasn’t useless.  _How old was Rickon when you last saw him?_

Sansa reached across the round oak table for a parchment and quill. 


	4. Everyone Can See It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon gets a rude awakening.

“You are not looking well this evening, my king.”

Jon was at the back of the tent pouring himself a large healthy portion of red wine into his stein. The council meeting was over and the rest of the advisors had already gone. Sansa had never showed up. The last thing he needed was for Melisandre to meddle in his affairs and toy with his mind.

“War is tiresome.” He replied, his back still turned, clearly wanting to be left alone.

“No doubt, and I am glad to see you are drinking red wine. It is good for your heart, you know. Having the ones who are closest to you betray your trust can be quite taxing.” There was no end to it with this woman. He knew he shouldn't resent her for bringing him back from the dead... he knew he shouldn't...

“All right.” He turned to face her. “You noted she wasn’t here, you noted my mood, and now you want to solve it using- whatever it is that you do.” Melisandre chuckled. Jon took a large swig of his stein.

“All I can offer you now is words.”

“Oh yeah? Words? That your way of doing things now?” He didn’t mean to be so brash, but his exhaustion made him care less.

“I have many ways of doing things, my Lord. I understand your frustration with me today of all days.”

“Well you can let me alone. I don’t need your ‘words.’”

“You have a particular way with a particular kind of woman. When all you see is red, the fire burns your eyes.” Her words were heavy. She must have been speaking of Ygritte. “I know already my methods won’t work on you, sweet Prince. You love another.”

Jon thought back on Ygritte- when had he last thought of her? Probably while he was with Sansa…

“I’d rather not be reminded.” He said, struggling to keep her death from reminding him of his. “It’s in the past.” The Red Woman chuckled again. It made his blood boil.

“I know it is. But you already love another.” Jon spun around to face her, reading her carefully.

“What are you saying?” He contorted, his anger growing, again. This bloody day will not end.

“Don’t get yourself worked up again, my king. It is bad enough for your heart. I feel responsible for you now, it’s my job to take care of you.” He was lost for an explanation, she had thrown words he felt foolish for saying back at him. He was afraid of what she might say next.

“She’s my sister.” The audacity of this woman…

“I didn’t say your sister.” She smiled again. “You did.”

Jon couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t let that slide though-

“You dare imply that I-”

“I never implied anything, your grace.” He found himself fighting to find the words, again. Was everyone better at arguing than he was? Or was it just women? Or was it just these fire women?

Melisandre turned to leave the room.

“Everyone can see it, Jon. After all… kissed by fire…” Oh. Gods. “A few of us know how you feel about such girls.” She turned and said at the entryway. That crossed the line.

“What do you mean? You all have been spreading rumors behind our backs?” His volume shot to involuntary levels.

“Oh, no one has said a word. There's no need to be embarrassed. You must know by now that you do not choose who you love, she always calls out to you.” Melisandre said evenly with a smirk before exiting the tent. Jon stood there alone in the silence, trying to process what she had just said. Dumbfounded yet again. This all must be more than his heart could take.

Jon crept into the tent as quietly as he could. He crossed over to Sansa who looked peacefully asleep. He found it difficult to hold his anger to her. That is, until he noticed her eyelids flutter. He remembered Arya’s eyes looked like that whenever she was pretending to be asleep and was anxious the person watching her wouldn’t believe it. She would hear Robb and Jon escape to the woods at night. She found them once, and they told her to go back to sleep, lest they tell Father. Arya would simply smile as she waited for them to test the theory in their heads. Septa Mordane caught her in the act and began checking on her late in the evening then again well before breakfast. Arya, of course, could not be deterred. His sisters had always been cunning, but like Septa Mordane, he had long learned their tricks.

Sansa was awake, but didn’t want to see or talk to him. Fine, he thought. Remembering the last thing she had said to him earlier that day. He thought about calling her out on the matter, but he was so tired of fighting. He was so tired of being angry. All he wanted was his sweet sister back.

He shuddered, feeling horrible once more. Melisandre’s words haunted him in the still darkness. Everyone can see it, Jon. It could have been a lie- a manipulation. The witch had some way into his consciousness, but that didn’t mean everyone did.

“I’m sorry Sansa.” He said. She didn’t move. “I shouldn’t have treated you that way, I know you can take care of yourself.” She turned away from him. Fine.

Jon, Defeated, slumped back to his bed. He remembered the last time he was this exhausted and craved its comfort. Oh how he wished he were on good ground with Sansa again. He needed her. He at least wasn’t ashamed to admit that. She helped bring him back to life. He closed his eyes and thought about it all deeply. He reargued with her in different ways, combating each comment from earlier that day with a well contemplated thought, trying her, testing her in his mind, seeing if he stood any chance on winning.

“You’re not sleeping.” He opened his eyes to long red hair, fully ablaze, and a long white girl.

“Well I’m a lot better at it than you are.” He begrudgingly tried to open his eyes a bit more. “At least I was trying.” He couldn’t quite read her expression. He figured it was something of a scowl.

Sansa didn’t touch Jon or say anything. She simply climbed into bed.

Jon wondered if her sleeping next to him was still a good idea. He considered moving to her bed, but his plan was betrayed when he saw her actually sleeping. Not tonight. He compromised with himself on various matters of Sansa while sleep threatened to betray him. He worried of an emergency; that someone would run into their tent at any point in the night begin making implications.

No one has said a word.


	5. To the North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa makes a speech.

Sansa was surprised herself. There she was, at a tavern, drinking with Jon and his best men. Laughing and singing was all around her. She wondered why she had ever been so opposed to the thought of a woman in such a situation. A noble woman could drink at grand events to have a good time, although Sansa herself had yet to be permitted more than a glass (except with Joffrey, at first.) Otherwise they drank by themselves into the lonely corners of their homes. Never had she felt this much enjoyment from it. Everything made sense now.

They jested with Jon constantly. He laughed whole-heartedly at the truth in their statements, however unfair. Sansa was giggling and enjoying every minute.

The ale seemed colder than any beverage she had tasted somehow. It was frothy and with just a hint of sweetness. It warmed her from the inside like magic. It satisfied her thirst and her hunger. The more she drank, the easier it became to drink. She laughed at that realization. So many things suddenly making sense to her, and everything was making her laugh.

Jon and Sansa had barely spoken over the past few days. After that ugliness with Jon over that miserable letter, they had been broken down to fewer sentences during the day. They were polite and friendly towards one another, every so often sharing a small chuckle, but neither could deny the tension. Neither of them wanted to argue any longer, so they remained at an impasse. She had done what she had done, and she didn’t want to lie to him. But she certainly did not want to argue with him about it. That argument could be even worse. She knew it would come eventually. Sansa took another large swig of her stein.

“Atta girl.” Tormund said. She laughed. Normally a man like this wildling would have frightened Sansa. At first he did. But he was loyal to Jon, and he made her laugh.

“The lady has probably drank twice her weight by now.” Davos said with a chuckle, coming up behind her to pat her on the back. She wasn’t particularly fond with Davos yet, but she knew he was trying. Sansa considered his story, as told by Jon, and had decided not to hold anything against him. He was simply being protective over her, like Jon was. But she still didn’t like him talking to her as if she were a child.

Tonight was different, however, no one was treating her like particularly anything. She wasn’t Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell, she was just Sansa- who really, really liked this ale. She realized she could join in with them. She cold be someone they could laugh with, who also had anecdotes about Jon. He had a few on her as well. Sansa had been separated from all her peers. She never realized how much she had missed camaraderie. She was one of them. She didn’t care about formalities or titles. The ale swept it all away seamlessly, and she found herself more at ease.

The day had been a good day to celebrate. They had come into this little town hoping to find supplies, and instead were greeted with Bolton soldiers. The soldiers were terribly outnumbered. The people of the town professed to be loyal to the Starks. Bolton soldiers had been terrorizing the lowly establishments, taking anything they wanted at whim. Father would never allow his men to behave this way. There was once a certain amount of justice and order in the North that the people longed to have again. They deserved peace, and Sansa and Jon were good at showing they believed that. They brought out the direwolf banners that had been salvaged and hidden. Sansa recognized most from the era of her father’s rule. It was a really a very good day.

Tormund rose from his seat to make a speech. Sansa hardly understood a word of it, but from what she could make out, it was pure filth. He spoke of raving and raping and friendship as the men cheered and laughed, mostly laughed. Sansa laughed herself. Surely Jon would never allow all of that.

Other men rose to make speeches, some similar to dear Tormund’s, yet others spoke of bravery. Some spoke of friendship. Some spoke of the honorable Ned Stark. All of these were full of laughs and cheers.

Jon looked at her now and again, smiling as stupidly as she was. People in the room cheered for the king to speak- others the queen.

“What queen?” Sansa finally said a bit too loudly. Too much ale.

“The queen of the North of course!” She heard someone exclaim. Suddenly the room erupted with cheers. People were yelling “Queen” and “Lady Stark” from different corners of the tavern. She hadn’t realized how many people were there until now. When they had arrived it was mainly Jon, Jon’s men and her along with a few servants. 

Now it had seemed as if the entire population of this precious little town had their eyes on her. She fell horribly ill.

The room was spinning. The people that surrounded her became a smudge of colors. Jon caught hold of her hand from the head of the table. He locked eyes with her, and told her she could do this. She should do this. She was their queen. But if she couldn’t, he could get her out. She didn’t think she particularly responded.

“Friends!” Jon stood up. He clearly didn’t have anything to follow.

“Friends!” Sansa abruptly stood, wishing she had thought of her own introduction.

She looked out and could only see a fraction of the people around her. “No no no no no…” she looked down at her feet as she shook her head, finding the bench where she was just sitting and climbing atop it.

Jon was surprised. She loved that stupid look on his face.

“North!” She exclaimed finally. Cause that one was so much better, Gods Sansa.

“I cannot remember ever having to make a..” she hiccupped, oh no no no no NO. “…speech to the people. I’ve had to make them in front of the people, but never to them. I’ll say I ha-” she hiccupped again”…ve… HAVE no practice and…”

She hiccupped again. “I don’t know what I’m doing!”

Sansa looked back at Jon. He had slumped back into his chair and rubbed his brow.

“All I can offer you now are words of honesty.” She managed to say in one breath.

“You may be surprised to know- I’ve had a lot of (hiccups) ale-” The crowd erupted in laughter again, then, surprisingly, quieted again to listen to her further. Her mother and Septa Mordane were shaking in their graves.

Jon leaned forward, put his elbows on the table, and clasped his hands together. He stared at her again with the question over whether or not she could do this. Now he was truly curious.

She plans her phrases as carefully as she can manage, to avoid hiccupping mid word. “I look over you and I am overcome with love.” (hiccup)

“I’ve seen so little of it lately, we all have.” (hiccup)

“But the way you raised my father’s banners.” (hiccup)

Sansa felt tears rushing to her eyes.

“The way you are (hiccup) here with me now. I love you. You are the North.” (hiccup)

She dared not look at Jon, knowing the damn would break.

“You are home.”

She hadn’t meant to do something like this. Why the hell did she stand up? Now she was about to weep with emotion in front of everyone, revealing her weakness. No no no- be funny!

“You are strong… and are about as brooding and stubborn as my brother here!” The crowd erupted with laughter again. Jon smiled as those around him patted him on the back

“And like my brother… you are as… (hiccups) as… Oh Gods, (hiccups) this is bloody awful, isn’t it?” The room exploded again. Sansa pulled her hand to the center of her face and pressed, trying to contain her laughter. She knew her face was now most likely a deeper shade of red than her hair. She didn’t care. She was enjoying herself despite her embarrassment. Suddenly Jon was next to her, wobbling to balance himself on the bench.

“Let’s here it for Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell!” John exclaimed, clutching her hand and holding it above their heads. Cheers and laughter. Sansa was glad he name her Stark. He was now more Stark than her it seemed.

“Oh no no no no!” Sansa shouted, shaking her head and reaching her right hand down to grab her stein. John held her left hand tightly with both hands so she wouldn’t fall.

“To the North!” Sansa lifted her stein into the air. It seemed everyone in the room had a glass raised. “And (hiccup)-t-to the King of the North!” Sansa pulled the hand holding Jon’s higher over their heads, as the room grew dizzy with cheering and excitement. They had given the people what they wanted, apparently. Jon stood there with her as they smiled and chatted with the smallfolk and laughed with everyone around them who had crowded their pedestal, keeping them standing there.


	6. Dark Corners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon spends time with his thoughts. Davos suggests a change of direction.

Sansa

The night air breathed her name.

Jon was standing outside staring at the sky. It was a clear night, and it seemed as if every star in the sky had revealed itself to him. The night was good. It felt too good. There were too many victories in the day. The good people rallied for them. They prayed for their safe return and offered them food and supplies.

That night, if only for the hour, if only within that tiny wagon stop, he was truly King of the North, chosen by the people, with her his queen.

Jon winced at the thought that plagued him. He had been doing a pretty good job up until tonight of keeping his consciousness in sorts, lest anyone read his thoughts. It was easy since he and Sansa were not on the greatest terms. That had also plagued him, but not as much as Melisandre’s words.

Sansa seemed more than a queen now. She showed them she was also a human, just a girl who loved to laugh herself to near death and smiled beautifully at everyone. They had seen her royal highborn self this morning, radiant and awe inspiring. Yet now they saw her as Jon saw her; lovely and kind and perfect. She was the perfect queen. She was the perfect woman. Perfect. Damn her.

The ale had cut through the barriers in which he kept his darkest, most shameful thoughts and emotions. He thought about all the horrible ways he could out do killing Bolton than what sweet Sansa had come up with. Her ways were over too quickly, probably for the best. He thought of all the Umber heads he was going to put on a spike. It wasn’t so much the fantasies, but the satisfaction he got out of them. Killing now left him with a complexity that he couldn’t overcome, having seen death itself. Once killing was dutiful, honorable. He would kill only for that, and take no joy or shame in it. Now it felt as if the entire opposite was true. Jon dreaded the idea of Sansa actually killing anyone.

But the most shameful thought was now out of its vault. It was like a disease that spread throughout his mind and was taking root. He knew he couldn’t be free from it now. His thoughts trailed back to the first time he realized he truly longed for her. The moment he realized why he couldn’t stop staring at her. It was the first council meeting. She seemed nervous. Her hands fidgeted in front of her for a while until she realized what she was doing. Davos had reasonable doubt in rallying the northern houses for the Stark cause. Jon watched and admired how she retorted with her homeland’s loyalty and bravery, points that he had failed to bring up himself. He was glad she was there.

"The North remembers," she said. "They remember the Stark name."

"I don't doubt it, but Jon doesn't have the Stark name." Davos replied. 

"No, but I do." 

He looked back up to her in disbelief. What exactly was she suggesting? Although her words that followed should have delighted him, he couldn’t help but feel… disappointed? What did he really expect? That Sansa was suddenly proposing to him in front of these people she doesn’t know? He felt like an idiot. Sansa would probably call him an idiot. He imagined her doing it now, only giggling in his arms. He had pictured a wedding- but then stopped because the mere idea was absurd. 

He remembers vividly feeling the shame and the pain. That is Lord Eddard Stark’s eldest daughter, your sister. She is also the beauty of the North, or possibly the entire realm, and she was born to rule. She could not and would not ever belong to a bastard half brother. She deserved the world. She should have been queen of Westeros. 

And again, here under the shining stars, one glows red. His thoughts betray him in the worst way possible. After all, the crowd had dubbed them the King and Queen of the North. It felt natural to stand there with her as she laughed and sang with the people she had professed to love. 

He would love her.

He pictures their wedding day, taking her hands under the heart tree and wrapping his cloak (one which she would probably make herself) around her. 

He would love her.

He thought of the feast and the laughing and the singing and dancing with sweet Sansa, her laugh and smile brightening the normally somber hall as he swirls her around, red hair shimmering with flecks of gold in the candle light. 

Kissed by fire.

He imagines people carrying them to their bed. Sansa would absolutely dread that part, no doubt. 

I didn’t say your sister, you did.

He reaches out to cup her cheek, her skin warm and soft under his calloused skin. He gently runs his thumb over her upper lip then kisses her softly. He waits for a response, treading as carefully as possible. 

A few of us know how you feel about such girls.

He would do it all for her. He would wait forever for her to let him in. 

Luckily, it is his fantasy, and she loves him just as he loves her. She pulls him into a deep kiss. He kisses her back, desperately, wanting to engrain the feel of her in his mind. He looses all control. Her scent is overwhelmingly intoxicating.

Her cheeks and her chest flush before him. His ministrations are slow. He puts his head into the crane of her neck and breathes her in, her hair soft against his forehead. He kisses the spots that emit the most heat; the pulse on her neck behind her ear, her wrist, her heart… his breath hitches as he tugs on the lace of her slip… 

Jon heard footsteps crunching in the snow. He hoped to the gods it wouldn’t be her.

“Jon?” Damn it.

“Yes! Here I am!” he responded, a little too enthusiastically. 

“Oh good, I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He was glad to hear her hiccups had gone. She was tired and drunk and happy, but looked as though she was ready to wind down.

“Yes, I am well” he forced a smile. 

“Well, um… I wanted to find you to thank you for encouraging me to do that. I wasn’t sure how I would have handled it without you." Jon smiled. Sweet Sansa.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Oh, come on now Jon, you know you didn’t have to.” She gave him a hug and kissed his cheek. His embrace was probably tense and cold to her. Hers was warm, soft, and trusting. He felt as though he would vomit. “Well, I’ll leave you to your brooding.” She let out a playful little laugh and sauntered off. 

He would love her. 

Jon sank into the ground, his back to the wall of the tavern. He took off his glove to feel the snow beneath his fingers. He focused on becoming numb. 

“My Lord.” Davos said, bowing clumsily.

“You need not address me so formally in these situations, Ser Davos.” Davos chuckled.

“Yes, well, it’s just as well. I don’t know how formal I can be at this state.”

“Likewise.” Jon smiled. “How are things in there?” 

“Well, from what folks were saying, the two of you were Eddard and Catelyn Stark back from the dead.” Jon spun around. 

“What?” he spat in a whisper. Davos recognized the error in his words, and tried to find a way out of them. 

“Your grace, forgive me, I’ve had my fare share of ale this evening. That was not in my place to comment.” 

Everyone can see it Jon.

Jon looked at him; he was clearly embarrassed and apologetic. Jon decided it best not to alienate everyone for once.

“You’re right, it wasn’t.” Jon said, calming his tone. “You are speaking on behalf of others and their outlandish opinions.” Jon didn’t want to ask, but he had to. “Be honest with me, Ser Davos, as you have always been. What do you think?”

“My lord, I think many things, of what would you like me to share?” Jon looked him over carefully, wondering whether he was being facetious or was simply drunk. 

“The Red Woman said something to me- something wildly unsettling.”

“Ah yes, yes, she does that.” Jon found it difficult to express anything to anyone. Everyone seemed to know somewhat what he was thinking, yet never gave him an in into the conversation. He had thought Davos would be different. “I think you need to find a woman to lay with.” Davos said unexpectedly. Jon was incredulous. 

“I am not that kind of man. I won’t father a bastard. And besides, what makes you think I need to? I’ve spent years with the Night’s Watch. I have some self control.” 

“Ah, no doubt, no doubt.” Davos never seemed all too intimidated by Jon. “But you don’t have to father a bastard to be with a woman, and you don’t have to remain celibate to live an honorable life. You bedded that wildling girl didn’t you?” Someone must have told Davos about Ygritte. 

A few of us know how you feel about such girls.

“What is that to do with anything?”

“Ahhh… your grace.” He struggled. 

“What makes you think I need this?” Davos didn’t know what to say. They both probably knew the unspoken truth. 

“I only mean that you are a free man now, for true. You have a great deal of war and responsibility ahead of you. You came back from the dead, you deserve warm blood.” Jon realized Davos was simply trying to help and not trying to toy with his mind. 

“I see your point, thank you Ser Davos.” Jon said, no longer wanting to continue with the uncomfortable conversation.

“Your Grace.” Jon got up abruptly and left Davos in the snow. 

Jon walked back into the Tavern. Sansa was busy teaching a common girl around her age how to put a certain type of braid into her hair. It was so Sansa, he had to distract himself. 

He noticed the two serving maids. One had light hair and was a little on the heavier side, the other a pretty younger girl with reddish hair. He knew he couldn’t approach the latter.


	7. Heat of the Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa has a hard time dealing with the more troublesome side of alcohol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thank you so much for following this story. It makes me excited to write it everyday. I'm sorry if I scared any of you with these serving maids!

She knew the only thing keeping her there was Jon, yet he seemed a little busy at the moment. He was talking to the two serving girls. He didn’t need to woo them really, they giggled at every little thing that came out of his mouth. The sound of there laughter pinched the center of her forehead. Sansa told herself to be collected. Jon needed this attention.

Still, she couldn’t help but feel a bit frustrated. Had he not noticed that she needed sleep? Was he doing this to annoy her, or had he simply found the best time to start longing for a women’s companionship now? She supposed that since the situation involved loads of ale, that she shouldn’t be surprised by Jon’s sudden behavior. She continued to tell herself this.

He was a man after all. She knew men. She had known plenty of men since leaving Winterfell the first time. She knew their actions, what they were capable of, and what they placed value in. She stared at the girls, wondering what particular value Jon had longed for in them. She knew, of course, but she couldn’t help but speculate.

The taller one was blonde. She was rather plain. There was something about her green eyes that Sansa supposed could be considered appealing. The other had red hair that was darker than hers. She was slightly shorter, yet thin and aesthetically pleasing. Sansa supposed she was pretty in a sort of common way.

There were many distractions in her surrounding environment. Sansa gasped and laughed loudly at senseless comments in her midst. She was still happy. She couldn’t let anything destroy what she had found in this little town. Still, every time one of those girls giggled at something Jon said, she found herself distracted by the situation at hand.

Sansa decided that since Jon was her brother, she felt protective of him. She wanted to make sure he was not being taken for a fool, or being lured into a trap by an enemy. She decided that was abundantly true.

To her surprise, Jon seemed to be more interested in the paler haired maiden. It must be his preference, she thought. It was idiotic to her, men’s preferences. The one with red hair was far more youthful and lovely, albeit quite a bit short. Well, fine then, Jon was shorter than her, what was the problem? He had found a couple of girls that would be smaller to him, thus enabling him to protect them further in his mind. Sansa felt a pang of jealousy staring at their height difference; she suddenly wished she had been made shorter. She was tall for a Stark, let alone a girl. Most men probably wouldn’t desire a girl who was taller than them.

There was so much noise. She had taken a break from the ale as soon as she had started to feel ill. Davos told her that it was good that she recognized this; it would save her many hard times in the future. She was brought water every time she had finished the water before her. The service was excellent. Had the girls not doted around so much, she might have been more appreciative.

Sansa wondered if she should approach Jon and the girls he had been speaking with. He was her brother, after all, and from what she had seen, he needed more counseling than he would care to admit in regards to women. This endeared her. She began to recall moments she may have shared with Jon that she had failed to recall before. He was always shy, and child Sansa had taken it upon herself to help him. He had so little, after all.

She spun around, and now only the yellow haired girl remained. To each his own, she decided, and looked back to take a giant swig of Tormund’s ale.

“Hey!” He commented, giggling about. Sansa just smiled at him, knowing that he would forget in a matter of moments. Another wildling instantly caught his attention, and Sansa took a large swig. She focused all her energy on communicating to Jon with her mind that she wished to leave. He of course didn’t hear a word of it. Good plan, Sansa. She took another swig.

“That’s a pretty name.” She heard him say. She looked back to the spot where Jon was now leading the girl away. Oh no. She was going to be sick.

 

Jon wasn’t sure how to proceed. He had never done anything like this before. He stood in the kitchen now. It was a mess, but it lay quiet. The noise from the hall boomed through the cracks in the wood, yet here he was, they were shut out from the rest of the world. Jon looked over to Tiffy, the blonde serving maid that he had convinced to go with him. She looked nothing like Sansa, which was the only prerequisite he had imposed on himself. He stepped to her gracelessly, wrapping his arms around her low waist.

“My lord!”

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?” The girl seemed startled. Jon took a step back.

“I thought… I thought…” he was stammering again. One disaster after another. Tiffy wasn’t drunk, and settled once she realized the miscommunication.

“I’m married, your grace.” She said, bowing her head. “I thought you wanted some bread since you have had a lot of ale.” Jon was embarrassed. He did say that. He had tried to woo a woman and she only thought he needed to sober up.

“I’m sorry.” Jon said. “You’re probably right, I could use some bread.” The girl looked on him with sympathy.  
“I never would have expected the king to want me, you must understand.” He didn’t respond, so she went about fumbling through the dark kitchen. “Ah! This is our very best. We have had to hide it from the Bolton soldiers.” Jon stiffened. Blood, blood, blood.

“I was saving this for the morning, but my mother would spin around in her grave if I offered my lord anything else.” Jon smiled at this simple act of kindness. He knew any maid would have done this for him, but her actions were sincere. She wanted to help. “I may be a married woman, but my little cousin is not. She is far prettier, and much more popular.” Jon was ready to give up the notion all together, yet he knew he would only picture Sansa this evening. He could not think of her like that while lying awake in bed, knowing what it might lead to- it would be so, so wrong.

“Thank you.” The woman also handed him a hot cup of tea. “It will calm what ails you. Or what ALES you! Ha! It's a joke, you see?” Jon gave a weak smile. He could imagine being friends with this odd but kind woman.

 

Sansa watched the horror happen in front of her eyes. All her regrets from the evening were showing themselves to her, being thrown from her mouth. She was ashamed; this is not how ladies are. She was the furthest thing from it, vomiting like any fool would after a senseless amount of alcohol. She began to sob. It caught her off guard, but she surrendered to it instantly. Hot tears became cold on her face, causing her to shiver violently in the dark of the night. She was glad she had snuck around to the back of the tavern, lest anyone know that their elected queen was an absolute mess.

The alcohol made her think upon other times she had vomited, it was normally out of immense fear. Her body used to reject everything in times of danger and violation.

Sansa wondered what Jon saw in the maid. She knew she mustn’t, but she had to wonder. It was eating her alive. She thought the red haired woman was far superior. Both the women had been extremely kind to her all evening. She was beginning to realize how unfair it was to judge them upon their appearance when she knew nothing about them. It was strange. Sansa normally never cared before about the cruel thoughts in her head towards others.

There was giggling and a rustle in the trees. Sansa froze like a block of ice in the snow. She recognized Jon’s voice. She looked at the mess in front of her, and moved to sit in the shadow of a wheelbarrow against the wall. They were not too far from her now. If she breathed, they were sure to hear it, yet had they seen her they surely wouldn’t be acting the way they were. Sansa saw as they moved closer into the moonlight that he had chosen the red haired woman.

He leaned the girl against the tree.  
“I like your height.” He said before kissing her roughly. Sansa felt a pang in her gut. Hot tears escaped her eyes. She dared not make a sound. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run up and strike Jon for doing this to her.

 

Jon reached out to clutch the red hair. It was thicker more coarse than he would have liked, but he told himself not to be too particular with this sort of thing. He looked at the fistful of hair in his hands. It brought back to life the feeling that had been dying since he began this venture. He went back to kissing her.

“Sansa...” he breathed involuntarily.

“What?” The girl said, eyes wide. Jon stopped. He looked to the girl. He knew he couldn’t go through with it- perhaps he knew from the start.

“I’m sorry.” He said, shaking his head. “I said plans than followed by an “uh!” I need to start making plans! And it is very... ahh... stressful.” 

“What?” She said for a second time, even more confused now. Jon stammered.

“I think I need… well, I don’t know if I can…” The girl smiled without her teeth and nodded knowingly. Jon knew he didn’t disguise the lie well at all. He couldn’t blame Liffy’s opinions from forming. At least it wasn’t mind reading or speculation, he flat out revealed himself.

“Your grace, I should be getting back inside. I have a feeling many people will need some water. I’ll leave you here, if that is alright.” Jon nodded. Liffelle and Tiffelle had outstanding skill with people. She gathered her skirts and disappeared behind the building.

Jon looked back to the sky. He heard something move. He put his hand to his sword as he saw a figure rise up from a shadow. Sansa. He froze solid as ice.

He had never seen her eyes as wide as they were. He noticed her face looking swollen from crying. He wondered what she had seen. More importantly, he wondered what she had heard. His heart beat rapidly in his chest. Fear of death was not something new to him- fear of Sansa might be worse, he thought.

“Sansa… What are you doing out here? Are you alright?” His eyes trailed over to the obvious vomit in the snow. “Oh Sansa, I’m sorry.” He said, looking back to her. Sansa stood there, stunned silent. Jon knew then she must know. He too felt he was going to vomit- which wouldn’t even be the worst thing he had shown to her this evening. He decided to do his best to stifle it, for her sake.

Jon didn’t know where to go from there. He wanted to run away from her, but he wanted to hold her and tell her everything was okay at the same time. He couldn’t very well do both, and there didn’t seem to be a medium between the two. She was walking agonizingly slow towards him. He couldn’t breathe. Her blue eyes were like sapphires in her tears, they were almost their own light source. She was getting closer and closer- too close. Oh dear gods.

Then she put her hand to his face, her eyes shaking, and kissed him timidly.

What? What was happening? Was he dreaming? Was he very drunk and still kissing Liffelle? No- no, this was Sansa! She was as warm and real and sweet as she had ever been. He kissed her back passionately, forgetting himself. Forgetting everything. Sansa let her passions run with his. He poured all his thoughts- all his longings and desperation into her. Her mouth tasted like ale. He didn’t care she had just vomited, it was the last thought in his mind.

Well, second to last thought maybe.

“Sansa..” he gasped.

“No no no, not yet.” She said sweetly, pulling his head back to hers. The sound of her voice making him twitch beneath his clothes. Not yet? What did she mean? She must know this has to end eventually. Not yet then, that was all right. It was her command.

He ran his fingers through her long luxurious hair. He wanted to wrap himself in it.

Deeper and deeper they went. The kisses were damp and uncivilized. They were none the wiser. He reined kisses down the side of her face, her eyes shut tighter and her mouth remained open, waiting for him to return to her lips. Jon thought that mouth to be the most lovely body part that could ever grace a female. It was swollen red now. His hands were all over her arms, neck, head, and shoulders before settling on holding her close by the small of her back. She kept her hands tangled about his curls, lightly tugging then pulling him closer, deeper and deeper. It drove him wild with desire. Her face started out cold, but now was heating rapidly to a boil. Jon knew it had to be time.

“I’m sorry Sansa. We can’t, you know we can’t.” He said, breaking from her suddenly.

“Don’t tell me what I know!” She spat; suddenly the tears welled back up in her eyes. Her head fell to his shoulder. He wrapped both arms around her. “I know…” she let out a sob, “I know. I know we can’t.”

His heart was breaking too. He couldn’t help the tears that escaped. For a few short moments he had everything he dared to want. He loved her, he fully loved her and no one else, he realized. There was no point in denying it any longer. He would follow her anywhere, do anything for her, give her anything she wanted, but he couldn’t. And not only he couldn’t, he shouldn’t want to. She shouldn’t want to. It was tragic, but it had to be killed before anyone else found them.

He knew he had to be strong though, for her sake, always for her sake. Anything for her. He waited a few more moments, holding her tighter now, before collecting himself and leading her back into the Tavern.


	8. Loving Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa finds a way to deal with the aftermath of the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLANS-uh! Ha! Thanks for sticking with me through that mess, lol.

Sansa opened her eyes. The sunlight peeked through the corners of the tent, insistent on alerting her of the time. She was in Jon’s bed, but Jon wasn’t there. She vaguely remembered a small argument about their sleeping arrangement. She knew she must have been stubborn about it.

Last night- did that really happen? Did she dream it? It all felt so real- his beard scratching against her face, his hands, his smell, the feel of his body against hers. Sansa shuddered. If it was real, what did this mean? What had come over her? What would happen now?

She attempted to lift her head but then fell back onto the bed. The room spun in a spiral. Her head throbbed with each accelerated heartbeat and she wanted badly to vomit again, but knew she had nothing left in her stomach. She turned her head to her bed and saw Jon asleep. He must have snuck out of his bed after she had nodded off. It must have been real. She closed her eyes and rolled over to his side, face down in his pillow. She breathed in the scent deeply, letting her mind shut off again. She fell back asleep.

She dreamed of Jon. She was kissing him again. They had just been married. She was filled with joy and love and nerves.

He was gentle with her at first, but passionate and bold when he needed to be. He touched her in ways she never knew she desired to be touched. She never thought she would enjoy these pleasures of the flesh, but the night before had changed everything. She never realized before that he had been her dream all along. He was like the knight from the stories. What a cruel twist of fate that he had to be her brother as well.

Suddenly, the room went black. She heard a laugh that sent pins into her skin. The bruises on her began to grow and swell. She was running now. Running in the darkness away from the laugh- away from the man that still haunted and threatened her in the night. A rope grabbed her around her neck and she fell to the cold floor, only for it to turn into her parent’s bed. Chains were being latched around her arms and legs. She screamed and writhed.

“Sansa?” She heard a voice call out to her, one that gave her hope. One that promised to end this eternal nightmare that she felt doomed within. That hope was quickly forgotten, however, as Ramsey was standing above her grinning his perverse and evil grin. No, she wouldn’t let him do this to her. Not again. Not if she could help it. She screamed and writhed more, the chains digging into her skin, causing her wrists and ankles to chaff and bleed.

“Sansa!” There it was again. She knew she could escape. There was a way out this time. The voice was telling her that. Ramsey’s hands tore her clothes. She screamed again.

"Sansa, wake up!"

Sansa opened her eyes to find Jon on top of her. He had pinned her hands down to the sides of her face and was breathing heavily.

“Are you alright?”

“He found me. He found me again. He’s going to find me Jon! He’s going to find me and…. He will… he’ll…” Tears were in her eyes. She knew her surroundings. She knew she was safe, but her hysteria and shock from the nightmare still had its claws in her.

“Shh… shhhh… Sansa…” His voice was deep and raspy. She must have woken him. He put his arms beneath her shoulders and dropped his weight onto her, his face pressing the side of her neck. “It will never happen. No one is going to harm you Sansa, I promise. You will never be in danger again, not while I'm around.”

 

Jon waited for her heartbeat to slow before lifting himself back onto his hands again. He wasn't concerned when he climbed atop of her, his only thought was of her and making her better. But now seeing her beneath him sent a rush of blood to places he was trying to neglect.

“Sorry, erm, your arms and legs were all about the place. You kicked me in the gut when I tried to subdue you, knocked the wind out of me, I had to think fast.” With that, he stood quickly to avoid any more embarrassment.

“Wait- Jon.” She rose to a sitting position, her hands clutching the animal pelts to her chest.

“Yes Sansa.” He tried to make his voice plain as possible.

“You- you said you would keep me safe, but I’m never safe in my dreams. Not without you here.” What was she doing? Surely she couldn’t expect him to keep sleeping next to her. But- perhaps- perhaps he was being selfish. He could only think about the painful feeling in his stomach that built up whenever they accidentally ended up so close to each other.

“Are you planning on sleeping a while yet, my Lady?”

“No, I suppose not.” She dropped back onto her back and stared at the ceiling. He wanted to comfort her. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t care. She looked lost and confused and sick from the night before. He crossed the room and poured her a cup of water from the supply.

“Here.” He knelt down next to her and held out the cup.

“Thank you.” She took the cup without looking at him. He felt rotten.

Sansa drank a big gulp of water, then looked at him urgently with her eyes wide, gagging. Jon propped up the bucket he had put next to her the night before for her to vomit in. He remembered the feeling from the days before the Watch. The alcohol was still poisoning her and rejecting everything else. When she was finished, she sat upright and still looking down at her hands.

“You must think I’m disgusting.” A single tear trickled down her pale face.

“On the contrary, my lady. Besides, it happens to everyone. The practice of drinking is not learned in a single evening. You'll be alright. It only feels like you're dying when it happens.”

 

Sansa missed this. He was talking to her in a normal, endearing, Jon manner again. Everything had gone to seven hells and back since their big fight, now she feared it would remain static forever.

“Jon, why did you go to my bed? Why didn’t you stay with me during the night?” Jon looked down from her gaze and stood up again.

“I thought you would know why.” Sansa did know, but now she had a new plan.

“No, I don’t.” Jon looked back to her, his brow furrowed. She held his gaze sternly, searching his eyes for the truth she would claim not to know. “The last thing I remember, I was teasing Tormund by taking swigs of his stein whenever he was distracted.” Jon’s eyes widened. She had given them both a clean slate.

“I… erm… you were sick, I didn’t want to be in your way. I’m sorry Sansa.” She noticed the shame that plagued him from this simple lie. It made her feel ashamed for not feeling ashamed for lying in the first place. The lies came so easily- she felt her Stark name slipping away with each one. She needed to lie though. She loved him. She loved him so much that the thought of everything changing, the thought of people finding out and tearing them apart scared her more than never being in his embrace ever again. She shuddered at the thought, but settled with herself that this was simply another torment in her life that she had to accept. The people had rallied behind them, their lives were now in Sansa's and Jon's hands, and their hands would destroy everything again if they were discovered. Jon’s claim was shaky to begin with; a scandal like this could cost him his head. She had to- for her family, for Jon, for her, and for the North.

“It’s alright Jon.” She realized she couldn’t sleep with him in his bed anymore. It would be difficult to keep up the façade. “If you felt more comfortable in my bed last night, you can sleep there if you want. I’d like to stay in this one, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, Sansa,” Jon kneeled back down beside her “anything to make you feel comfortable. But what of your dreams? You shouldn't have to relive that horror every night.”

“This bed smells of you, I should be able to survive.” Sansa winced as she realized it wasn’t the smell of Jon that made her feel safe in her sleep, but it was Jon himself. Jon nodded and stood again.

“Get some more rest, as much as you can. I’ll bring an elixir that should help you eat and drink water again. The day is still early, you should be able to attend the conference this evening.” Jon started for the exit, then stopped abruptly and turned to look at her again.

“Did you have any other dreams that were strange to you?” Sansa thought for a moment, knowing what he was asking.

“I dreamed I was standing in the center of the courtyard at Winterfell in a snowstorm. No one was there except Ghost. He sat calmly across from me, alert and ready to protect. He looked me in the eye as if to ask if I felt safe, and if he needed to serve me in any way.” This was not a lie. Sansa had dreamed this at some point in the night. Despite the snowstorm and the lack of humans around, the dream had brought her comfort. As if, despite whatever happened between her and Jon, the two of them would be there again, in Winterfell, when the storm came. Jon considered the dream, then called ghost over to her.

“He will keep you safe. I don’t doubt he told you that.” Sansa smiled. She had heard of the mystical powers of the direwolves. She felt that connection with Lady once- as if a piece of her was left inside the wolf. They would have been connected forever. The thought made her sad again. Perhaps that was the Stark in her that was killed.

Ghost, to their surprise, hopped on the bed next to Sansa and curled up in Jon’s place.

“He must like you a lot.” Sansa scratched the wolf’s head. He nuzzled into her nails. She looked back to Jon and smiled at him toothlessly, attempting to conceal her sadness.

“Yeah- he must.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, the truth always comes out. (Cough cough... looking at you Jon TARGARYEN... cough cough...)


	9. Red Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon struggles to gauge what everyone knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated recently. I've been waiting to see what happens in the show, but I feel like this episode finally puts the show right where this story is.  
> We know the battle is episode 9, so I'm hoping I get a lot out of episode 8.  
> Not much happened in this episode that I didn't know from spoilers. The main thing I got out of it was ALL THE TIMES THEY LOOK AT EACH OTHER. Watch closely, it's subtle, but it's there. Jon and Sansa are not the types to ask for affirmation, and they do it so often while they are next to each other. No other two people look at each other that much on this show, I've already checked.  
> I also loved their bickering. I was delighted to see her send the letter. I felt like it all fit into my story. It makes me super happy inside. ^_^

Davos was trying his best to keep his mind sharp, yet the light from the candles in the tent were piercing him in the brow. The war talk was the same; Davos was more interested in what was plaguing his Lord and Lady. 

The night before had gone by in a haze. Every one was sick and no one was happy like the night before. Only Melisandre sat there with that knowing smirk on her face. 

His talk with Jon only seemed to worsen matters. He remembered Jon going into the cold night with the pretty and of course red headed serving maiden, only to come back in looking as horrible as ever with a swollen faced Sansa. Davos could only speculate what had happened. 

Now they barely looked at each other. This struck Davos immediately seeing as they were constantly exchanging glances to gauge each other’s reaction to, well, everything. 

There was something off about Sansa especially. Unlike the rest of the council, the lack of men didn’t seem to bother her. What made her more anxious was what would happen after Winterfell was taken back. Davos seemed to have a lot to get to the bottom of. He was beginning to care deeply for these young people. Even though Sansa had yet to fully trust him, he admired her strength in the face of opposition. He wondered what a little girl would have to go through to become so iron clad at such a young age. He shuddered at the thought of the horrors done to little girls, even noble ones, all around the world. 

After the meeting had ended and everyone had left, Davos found Jon pouring wine into his stein at the back of the tent. 

“I would have thought you wouldn’t be able to touch the stuff this evening.”

“Actually, I find it quite helpful in certain instances. Would you like some?”

“Ah, no, I am having a hard time even thinking about it.” Jon smiled. Davos was glad to see not everything had frozen over. “I hope Lady Sansa is alright.” Jon stiffened, looked at Davos and tightened his jaw, then took a large swig.

“Me too.” He said, looking back to his stein and swishing the wine around. Davos could see that he would have to pry again. He dreaded it, but at least he was good at it. 

“My Lord, if you don’t mind me asking, what did happen with her last night? She was in high spirits until I saw her walk back in with you…”

“She was sick.” Jon interrupted. “The Lady was embarrassed that I saw.” Jon was getting better at lying, but he was lying just the same. The answer seemed too formal and rehearsed. 

“Yes, your Grace.” Davos bowed and turned to leave, knowing that tonight he would get nothing out of…

“You don’t believe me do you?” Davos stopped in his tracks and turned back to face Jon. He knew that he could bow and grovel and tell Jon something to reassure him. Surely it would make his life easier. But he was never one for making things easy for himself. And Jon trusted him to be honest. He was beginning to love Jon the way he had loved Stannis, with whom he never withheld any opinions. 

“No, my Lord.”

Jon looked back at his stein. He wasn’t angry this time, nor was he shocked. He simply kept circulating the red wine in his cup. 

“Did you see anything?” 

“Ah- no, my Lord, I do not think so. I simply saw you leave with one girl and come back with another.” Jon nodded. He seemed slightly relieved, but he wouldn’t let it show much. Davos could see the wheels in his mind turning as he assessed what he would say now that Davos was clearly only out for information. 

“You have nothing to worry about. Everything we talked about last night doesn’t matter. It was simply the ale.”

“Yes your Grace.” Davos nodded again and turned.

“You still don’t believe me.” Jon said under his breath just loud enough for Davos to hear. Davos stopped at the entrance, but he didn’t turn to face Jon.

“No, your Grace.” He said with a heavy exhale as he exited. 

 

Jon sat alone in the council tent with his wine. The thought of going back to the tent while Sansa was still awake make him nervous to no end. He hoped she would be asleep. He hoped ghost would soothe her fears and she would be left in peace. 

Last night could only have been a fluke. Sansa was lonely and sad, then startled upon hearing her name. The fact that she didn’t remember anything proved that to him. He should feel relieved. Perhaps her mind had blocked it out as a traumatic experience, or perhaps he was being too hard on himself. 

He could not feel worse for wanting her the way he did. To her, he would always be her brother. He was all she had left. How dare he even imagine taking that away from her? How dare he disrupt her peace? She needed no man to touch her ever again. Under Jon’s protection, he would make sure she would never need to marry again.

But what if she did want to marry again? He thought. He then downed the remainder of the wine in his stein and filled it back up to the top. He would sleep well tonight. He thought of attending Sansa’s wedding. He imagined all the same things as when he pictured his own wedding to her, only he was standing in the back and watching her live her happily ever after with someone else. Whatever she wanted, he decided. 

He couldn’t let his feelings come in the way of her happiness. That was the true nature of love, he had realized. He would love her for eternity, but from afar. She would be much happier.

But still- she called out to him. 

He barely noticed. He wasn’t even sure what he noticed, but whenever Jon had touched the back of her chair, he felt the vibration of her flinch. Could she have lied? It didn’t seem like a lie, but then again, neither did her lie about the Blackfish. Surely the girl must be good at lying by now. But if she did lie, he knew why. She must have been embarrassed and thought it a mistake. She most likely didn’t love him the way he loved her, but even if she did, it shouldn’t matter to him. It was a mistake, Jon decided. If Sansa decided that, then it must be abundantly true.

The battle was only days away now. All of this inner turmoil might not matter for much longer. Jon, once again, finished his wine.


	10. Pray for Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa think about the immediate future.

The trees grew taller before them. It felt like she was suffocating, being surrounded like this, gasping for breath. They reached the clearing to the view of Bolton sigils. 

"You don't have to be here." Jon said. She felt his earnest eyes on her profile, searching for something. He clearly sensed her reluctance and discomfort.

"Yes I do." Her response came automatically. She wasn't going to cower now. Surely Ramsey knew she was coming. He probably thought he got to her. He probably thinks she is broken. She is, but she would never give him the satisfaction of knowing it. And surely she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of being a slave to him by keeling over out of the fear of him. 

The entanglements went on. Ramsey played his typical came. Sansa could hardly keep from falling apart. She was terrified, but she wouldn't let herself tremble. She wouldn't let her eyes shut on him. She stayed quiet, wanting him to read the message through her penetrating stare. You will die. You will die. You must die. 

Jon kept his composure. He even found a way to demoralize Ramsey by making him look weak for not deciding to battle for Winterfell man to man. She knew Ramsey would never go for this, but having his reputation shaken in front of his troops brought her a hint of satisfaction. Jon was naive though, he just didn't realize it. Ramsey was boastful, but he didn't reveal his cleverness. She didn't think Ramsey knew Jon would know how to be clever, so his actions threw him off slightly, but he still was overconfident. He apparently had avoided her very clear message. The sight of Shaggydog's head would have made her burst into a fit of tears had she not prepared for something to that caliber. Yet despite her own steel, she felt the blood rushing to her head. She felt the familiar glare of hopelessness. She channeled that into her anger, wanting Ramsey to read her message loud and clear.

"You're going to die tomorrow, Lord Bolton." She had to leave now. She will not look weak in front of him. "Sleep well." She rode away from them as fast as she could. Ramsey would take this as her weakness but at least she didn't demoralize anyone with the sight of her anguish. It was worth it for the look on his face. She had never threatened him before. Perhaps Jon's confidence wouldn't throw him, but hers could.

Through the tall foreboding trees and back to the camp, she picked up pace as the tears streamed hot down her face. Her baby brother was gone. She would no longer accept blind hope, she needed at least one clear solution, yet received none. The cold wind bit at her face. She didn't feel it. She didn't feel anything but panic, fear, anger, and loss. She would not go back to his bed. She will sooner die before he ever lays a hand on her again. She thought of ways to kill him first, should the Boltons win, but realized soon it would only be a trap to capture her, then she would be doomed. 

Had it not been for the raven she sent to Baelish, she wouldn't have come, but there was still hope that wasn't blind. Despite the manipulative monstrosity that was Baelish, he only seemed to have passion for one thing- her mother. And now, it appeared, her. Or perhaps he wanted the North. She couldn't be sure. She didn't know what kind of game he was playing, but she could speculate. Nevertheless, she didn't want to give anyone else this hope in case it was false. The Vale forces could arrive too late, or not at all. Sansa shuddered. She couldn't afford to think that way. Her mind and soul were taking in too much already. A clear head was needed for the arrangements. 

She arrived back at the camp and found her tent. Once she was sure she was alone she wept loudly, trying to achieve that feeling of relief she had when she had wept openly to Jon. But he wasn't here, the feeling wouldn't come, and he couldn't help her now. And as much as it killed her, she couldn't help him either.

Her sobs grew louder and more frustrated. She kicked over the chair she liked to sew in and put her hands to her face, roughly pushing all the water from her cheeks. 

"Sansa." She didn't know when he had entered, but now he knew. Now he knew she was truly afraid, almost completely devoid of hope. But of course, he wasn't disappointed, he would never be for something like this. He walked up slowly and put his arms around her.

"I...didn't... realize... I.. would.... react this way" Her words came out between gasps. She was so sick of crying and not being in any control over herself. 

"It's alright, I know." He said, putting his hand up to hold her head closer. This was all she had now, and it too could be gone all too soon. Without it, she would be nothing. She could find the strength to kill herself.

 

He held her a few more moments, waiting to see if she would be the first to speak. Her crying and heart rate slowed. She must be exhausted. 

"What did he say after I left?"

"Ah, I barely remember. I took off not long after you did to see to it you were alright." 

"What did he say?" She knew he was holding back. Always a terrible liar.

"Something about feeding us to his hounds. He says he hasn't fed them in seven days in anticipation for our arrival." She looked up at him blankly then looked down and solemnly nodded. He felt a wave a relief she didn't push on further. He wouldn't reignite her sorrow with Ramsey's threat of bringing her back with him. That wouldn't happen anyways. He made arrangements for Sansa should they fall, but surely she wouldn't want to hear about it. She was always convinced she was never safe. He couldn't blame her, considering her former circumstances.

Still, he wanted to prove it to her. He wanted her not to live a life of panic and dread. He wanted that for himself also, but she never chose this life. He chose a life of fighting, she chose to be a lady. A lady that should feel safe and warm and protected. A lady that should have a family. Jon shuddered at the thought of Ghost's head being thrown at her feet. 

"Please come back to me." It was but the faintest of whispers, but he knew he was meant to hear it. "If you die, I die." 

"I won't let you die. You will be in a safe place."

"It will never be enough. He will find me." He wouldn't argue with her now. There was no time. Of all the things he wished for in the world, it was time. Time to be with Sansa, assure her of her safety and happiness. Time to be alive one day without worrying about dying the next. Time to be free and normal again, like a child. He had a hard life since birth, but his best memories were of his siblings and of his father and his men and of Winterfell. If he were to fight and die for anything, it was those things. Ramsey was clever, but he was easily angered and moved foolishly. Let him play his little games. The Starks fought with honor. They fought for their home and their family. If justice was anything in this world, it was on their side. And Jon had reason to believe in justice. His father died without justice, but before dying he had fought honorably and was victorious against countless evils. The same went for Robb. Terrible things had happened, but the Starks still owned the North. They had for thousands of years. If the Boltons didn't know that, they wouldn't see Rickon as a major threat. That was the hope he should hold onto. If they didn't defeat the Boltons, who would? The Targaryens were defeated after an insane king hurt countless royal houses. The Starks had always remained honorable. If they were the last hope for the north, surely Justice would see them through the end of the day.

He had to believe that. He had to. If not for himself, then for Sansa. Sansa was the one that gave him this notion, whether or not she had realized it. She must believe in justice too or else she never would have pushed this battle to begin with. Somewhere along the way, she lost sight of it. Perhaps when he refused to listen to her. Because of that, he didn't want to give her a false sense of hope seeing as he might have been the one to take it away from her, and seeing as how he might be entirely wrong and they could lose regardless. 

He held her tightly, not knowing if there would be another moment he could embrace her without anyone around. She would leave in the middle of the night. She didn't know it yet. She wouldn't hear of it had she had a choice in the matter. 

"I promise to do all I can to come back to you. There's nothing I want more." He spoke words so true, it felt like it punctured a hole in his heart. He heard it clearly when he said it. It made the thought of losing her or letting her go more detrimental. If he knew she would be safe he could die. Either way, she was not his, and he would always feel like she was. The hole in his heart could only grow into a large gaping bitterness. He fought all his life with the bitterness. If he did live, he would only have to fight more; both physically and internally. He could let go and die easily tomorrow, he settled, if only she hadn't wished him not to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOT WOOT. The wolves have come again. #awwhellyeah
> 
> Episode 9 gave me so much to work with. So many scenes we didn't see, and so many we DID. Did anyone else freak out when Jon kissed Sansa's forehead in the preview? For a guy who doesn't show much PDA, that sure felt like something. Just like all the other "little" things have felt like a little more something something. I'll be updating more frequently this week. So sorry about the delay.


	11. Dare to Believe

Sansa slipped outside the council tent and into the frigid moonlight. The words she last spoke still ringing in her head. She thought being callous would mute her over emotional state, yet now she just felt lost. She wondered if she should go back into the tent and apologize, but if she did it might send her spiraling down into another hysteria. This was the only way. This was the way she survived this long whilst in the enemies grips. 

Jon wouldn't understand. He failed to understand her on several accounts. A huge part of her blamed herself for letting herself become more and more closed off towards him. When she first arrived at Castle Black, she finally felt that happiness and relief to have family again. She didn't believe she'd ever have a true friend again, when all she has known for so long are people who wanted to use her. Even kindness came at a price. But not from Brienne, and not from Theon, and certainly not from Jon was there anything but honest care for her. But now, it seemed, she didn't know how to accept it. She didn't know how to have a family anymore. Her last memories of family were of a father she swore to never forgive. Then she bitterly ate her words when he was arrested for treason. And there was a little sister who never liked her and probably blames her for what happened to father. Oh how she wished she could embrace them both again.. Arya Stark was alive. She was a fighter. She was special and beautiful. Sansa regretted never telling her anything of the sort. She regretted never fully realizing her sister's potential and uniqueness. She prayed she'd one day be reunited with her little sister, she would finally appreciate her for all she was- but the Gods were cruel, it seemed, for the threat of tomorrow loomed large and dark over her heart.

She loved Jon. She loved Jon so much that she didn't know how to put her trust in him. She wanted to trust him. She wanted to believe in him like she had believed in her father or how she believed in Robb. When she left for King's Landing, she never could have imagined what would happen to her- what would happen to her house, to her family- her mother, her winning older brother, and her highly respected and honorable father. How could she trust Jon when Jon embodies all the strengths and weaknesses of her honorable, yet miscalculating father? The father who was hand of the king, who would take care of everything. The father who would do anything to protect his family. She never could have known her life was only safe while King Robert lived. 

Then there was Robb. Oh how she hoped and believed in Robb. She dared to hope in a happy ending. She dared to believe in Justice. The only escape she found in all of her torment was in the belief that her older brother was coming to bring her back to Winterfell to be with her mother and little brothers. For a moment she dared to believe she would be safe in Highgarden, and would be happily sending them a raven informing them of her marriage to a handsome and valiant young knight. But instead she received the same abuse as she had been dealt and was forced to marry Tyrion Lannister. Then she sought safety, comfort and family with an aunt that despised her and eventually would want her dead. Family was everything to her, but every single family member was only a deep wound now. Jon might soon be the deepest. She then trusted Littlefinger, who had an uncomfortable fascination and care for her, only for him to lead her to the worst torment and misery she had ever experienced and possibly would ever experience in her life. Never again.

Everything she ever dared to believe in as a naive and emotional little girl was taken away from her in an instant, and Jon might not be any different. She may have been naive about war tactics, but Jon seemed even more naive then she! He never sought her opinion on anything regarding Ramsey, when she was the only person who knew him and spent time with him. She thought she would have been an obvious choice to seek council from, but he must only see her as his emotionally fragile little sister. She felt stupid when finally faced with the question, she could only give him what seemed to be "obvious." She wanted him to have more men. She wanted him to be safe, but she was beginning to think he must have a death wish. In which case, she definitely couldn't rely on him. He couldn't protect her. No one ever has. If he failed, she failed and would accept her defeat, and would never have to live another day battling with blind hope. It probably wouldn't even have come. 

What made it all the more difficult was that Jon was the only person she had let in in a very long time. She had allowed herself to cry so many times while he selflessly comforted her. She allowed her emotions to run wild, sometimes for the better, and one time for the worse. She was losing that. She thought she had already lost it until this morning, yet now she had to let it go again. He couldn't know. If this was their last night, she longed to tell him that she loved him and that he made her believe again, but that would only make things worse, seeing as how he apparently wanted to die. He promised to do all he could to come back to her though, yet still, she didn't want to reignite that light in her soul only for it to be snuffed out again for the last time. 

She realized all this thought had caused her to wander about the camp. Now she was very tired and very cold. She probably wouldn't sleep, but at least the cold exhausted her enough to want to be in her warm bed. She had stopped sleeping in Jon's bed a few nights prior in her attempts to numb herself to him. Ghost had really taken to his duty and curled up next to her every night, which still helped with the nightmares, but did nothing to help her forget about Jon. 

Sansa wandered back to her tent when she noticed one light still burning a bright white, illuminating the tiny tent that enclosed it. She saw two figures. One was Jon, she recognized quickly, yet the one sitting was still a mystery. She saw Jon walk out in a huff of misery, which sparked her immediate attention. She approached the tent with caution. 

"Good evening, my Lady." a familiar voice called out when she was at the entrance. 

"Good evening." She said, wary to see Melisandre as she entered the small enclosure. "Are you not cold?" Melisandre looked up at her tiredly and smiled as if she were a sweet, concerned child. 

"No, my Lady." Well, that's all the explanation needed, apparently. 

"I was just.. I suppose I should..."

"You were wondering why our King was here." Sansa stopped fidgeting and put her steel back on. 

"Yes, I suppose I was."

"The King sought out battle advice."

"And what did you tell him?"

"I didn't have anything. I simply told him not to lose." Thank you Melisandre, for that. 

"That's great advice."

"No different from yours." Sansa looked at her in confusion.

"You weren't there."

"You are right, my Lady, to a degree. You must protect yourself. You are your own best chance." Melisandre stopped and looked back at her. Her brow furrowed, as if she was trying to solve a puzzle "And possibly my Lord's." Those last words seem to come as a surprise to the Red Woman herself. She rose up from the table and continued to stare deeply into Sansa.

"What are you talking about?"

"Something tells me you know. I don't, but you do." Melisandre was suddenly very much alive and awake. "I saw a victory in the flames. The Bolton sigils were being torn from Winterfell and burned." Sansa couldn't tell whether she should be frightened or intrigued. Why was she only hearing of this now? Was any of this reliable information? 

"Whose victory?"

"I don't know, but I am beginning to wonder if you might be able to tell me."

"How would I know?" Melisandra narrowed her eyes, searching deeper. "You don't." She said finally. "But if there is a chance of victory, it will lie in your hands." Sansa was bemused. What sort of torment was this? It was as if the flame of belief refused to die inside her. It would either enlighten her, or scorch her. 

"Will you tell Jon this?" She asked, suddenly very worried. Melisandre studied her more calmly this time, as if to understand her intent rather than some sort of vision. 

"No. I agree with you. He musn't know." She said. Sansa was completely baffled with herself and with this woman. It was as if she was arguing with a voice inside her head- but a new voice, one that wasn't hers but knew and understood her well. It was an unfamiliar feeling. No one knew these things, yet she conversed with this woman and hadn't done enough to ask her how or why. 

"But what if he is killed?"

"Then my Lord asks I leave his body in peace." She was shocked. She hadn't even thought of resurrection.

"What?" She processed what he had asked. So he did want to be dead.

"That is what my Lord requested, but I did not agree." Sansa suddenly felt irritated at the audacity of this witch.

"But if that is what your Lord requests."

"I told Jon what I will tell you. I do not serve him, I serve the Lord of Light. I serve the Prince that was Promised second."

"But.. I thought you said that was Jon."

"If the Lord's will is to bring him back from the dead a second time, then you will know who he is."

"He doesn't want that. He wants to be dead." Melisandre looked at her with pity.

"Oh, little dove, he doesn't want to be dead, he simply doesn't want to be brought back to life if he dies again." Sansa flinched at the nickname. This witch was more powerful the more confidence she gained and was not to be trifled with. Sansa was having a hard time keeping her walls up. 

"You should respect his wishes, if that is what he wants." Sansa fought the tears that threatened the back of her eyes.

"Yes, that is what he wants now that death seems to be a greater threat to him than ever, but what he wants most in the world- don't you remember?" Sansa furrowed her brow incredulously and exited the tent without another word. 

The walls were crashing down again. She fought with it as much as she could, but a few tears escaped anyway. She did not sob though. The spark the witch had ignited within her was growing. If she could believe in anything, perhaps it was herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it is interesting to see all the different reactions to Sansa this season. I'm trying to capture her in the most logical light possible. She has been suffering from PTSD since the end of season 1 and people are still accusing her of being cold and callous.
> 
>  
> 
> I just say-of course! Of course she acts that way! She DOES care if her brothers live or die, but she has suffered so much that hoping for a brighter future only ends up with her in more and more pain. 
> 
>  
> 
> I think Sophie Turner is doing an ah-friggen-MAZING job of conveying this character. You can see the abuse she has suffered, and that little hint of emotion that escapes her supposedly icy exterior. I see everything she has been through when I watch her. I just hope our words may shed some more light on Sansa. I think people who misunderstand her aren't making a big enough effort, but that's just my personal opinion.


	12. War Stories Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath

Sansa took a long look at Rickon's lifeless body, her face devoid of any emotion.

"Where is he?" Sansa demanded with fire in her eyes. Jon immediately felt ashamed for feeling worried about her seemingly lack of concern. Though it was not without precedent. Sansa had seemed so ready to give up on their baby brother last night. Given Jon's affection for her, he figured that if he found her behavior suspicious, then perhaps it was a shared opinion. He had wondered what family had truly meant to her- if, perhaps, she was glad the only trueborn heir of Winterfell was now dead. That all faded away at the sight of her rage.

"The kennels." He responded. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and stared intently at him, as if asking permission. He nodded, the punishment seeming fit. She had passed the sentence, after all. The first time while lying with Jon in his bed and the second time while looking Ramsey right in the eye. Sansa turned without another word and made her way.

Jon let out a loud exhale. He didn't realize he was holding in so much breath. It must have been because of her. He didn't know what to do or how to feel. She had been everything to him, and though he knew she wasn't in love with him, he at least thought he meant more to her. 

He noticed the Wildlings stare at her as she moved briskly through the courtyard. She ignored all of them with the same coldness, but Jon knew better. She seemed anxious. He wondered what he would have to answer to now in regards to Sansa. These people, to some degree, blamed her for the loss of over half of their people's lives. The Wildlings were dying out already. 

He wanted to be angry with her, but all he felt was sadness. He felt betrayed. The feeling hit hard. He was beginning to realize that he didn't really know this woman, all he knew was a girl. 

Jon wandered about the castle until he finally found his old room. Nothing of his was left. The furniture remained the same. He collapsed on his old bed and stared at the ever familiar ceiling. It felt like he was waking from a dream only to realize he was still dreaming. He had seen that ceiling a handful of times since first leaving Winterfell. 

His mind replayed the horrifying day again and again behind closed eyes. The piles of rotting flesh, the smell, the blood, the dirt, the snow, the suffocation... 

He had made an important decision during the battle. The darkness was closing in. The light from the white sky scarcely peeked through the terrified men that were piling over him. There was nothing but death. He thought he had met the end countless times during the fight. Each time, against all odds, he survived. He realized in that moment that if he was going to live, he needed to want it badly enough. His reason for living up until that moment had been for the only family that he had left. For the last few years all he wanted was to help keep them safe, and now that he had finally gotten the chance he had failed. They were losing. He had fallen for the trap. Many of his men were sacrificed because of his temper. Why should he want to live? For Sansa? No one can protect me. Her words echoed in his head. All of his best intentions proved to be futile. He considered letting go. Finally giving into the death that had haunted its return. He couldn't protect anyone. He understood now. If he was going to somehow live through this, he needed to want to live. And he realized, despite everything, he did! He wants to live! Not for Sansa, not for the North, not for anything but for himself. Up until that realization his body had been tired and defeated, had he not been stronger he would have been a lost cause. He summoned all his strength and pushed as hard as he could upwards, crawling up the backs of the men who were pushing in more and more. He saw a clear framing of the bright sky and forced his head through it, gasping for all his life when he had finally reached his summit. 

He looked around at the situation. There was no way out. There was no surviving. It pained him more now that he had decided to live. He had decided not only to survive, but to truly live after surviving. What kind of God would do something like that? 

Jon opened his eyes to make sure he had, indeed, survived. He had. He breathed a sigh of relief. His heart was racing. There would be no real rest for a while. He was used to it at this point. He had barely ever slept since being resurrected. It still haunted him, yet after the battle it began seeming like a distant memory. He had to overcome it, if he was going to live. He realized that the moment he saw Sansa standing atop that distant hill. She was a flaming red torch, a beacon of hope. 

Oh Sansa- what now? How could he trust her? How could he not trust her? How could he go forward with this turmoil? He still vowed himself to protect her at all costs. Perhaps he needed to protect her from herself. He needed to find a way to reach her. She had made a fortress for herself, hidden away deep within her. Jon had been able to breach its walls at one point, but now she was guarding it with all of her might. She shut everything in and kept everything out, making it impossible to get a message through. If she didn't trust him, would she believe him? Believe that despite everything, he wanted what was best for her? He supposed he had now given her reason to doubt him. He had failed her, after all. Had it not been for her, all would be lost. 

Her plan had been most efficient. Ramsey never would have faced them had he known about the Vale forces. The could have sieged, but that would have taken a great deal of time. The real shortage of the war wasn't men, it was of time. Perhaps if they had had more time they could have built a bigger army. Yet there was a greater threat that loomed over the world, bigger than him or Ramsey Bolton. Sansa must have chosen to understand this, although Jon never would have agreed to her plan. The Wildlings were almost extinct now, yet the vale cloaks appeared new and practically unstained. There army was strong and better equipped. Honor would have always compelled him to fight with the Vale forces from the beginning, had he chosen to accept their help at all. They were, after all, the men he had refused in the first place. Honor would have compelled him to try negotiating Rickon's release given the larger army. But there was never enough time, and Honor had killed his father and had already left him for dead- twice. 

But if he hadn't been honorable, no one would have followed him. No one would have wanted to bring him back from the dead and no one would have charged forward to protect him after he had clearly fallen into Ramsey's game. His men had blind loyalty to him, he couldn't abandon his belief in honor now. It killed him to know that Sansa, of all people, had not acted honorably. 

But the last thing- the very last thing he wanted to do today was fight anymore, especially with Sansa. He repeated the conversation he had with her in the war council tent again and again. He knew she was being honest when she said she knew nothing of war. She had become a good liar, yet the fear in her eyes and her trembling plea for more soldiers was honest. She couldn't have been certain they would show. It must have been Baelish. He didn't know the man, but he didn't like him. He didn't seem trustworthy. And his feelings for Sansa only made everything about a hundred times worse. 

He rose from the bed suddenly with an urgency to figure out how to deal with Petyr Baelish. What was his ploy? What would he do now that his army had dominated the North? And how could he protect Sansa from someone she now seemed to trust more than him? 

He opened the large wooden door and began searching the halls for Littlefinger's whereabouts. How could he think of resting at a time like this? The war had only just begun. 

Jon heard crying coming from hall where the rest of his family's old rooms were. He realized it must have been Sansa's and darted towards the sound without thinking it through. He slammed open her old door- empty. The crying stopped. It was surely hers. She must have heard him. He quietly opened Arya's door, then Robb's, before finally finding her in Rickon's. She was sitting on the farside of the bed, staring out the window. She didn't turn to face him. 

"Did you see how much he had grown?" Jon's heart sunk. He saw the scene play through his head again. He was so close to reaching him in time, he could practically feel his baby brother's heart beating. 

"Aye." he said solemnly. 

"I didn't even know him. He was just a tiny little boy when I last saw him alive. He was so full of life then. Such a happy child. I didn't know the man he was becoming." Her voice wasn't trembling. She stated everything with the suddenly familiar frigidness. 

"Aye." They were Jon's sentiments exactly. What high hopes he had for all of his siblings. Seeing the youngest die turned their world upside down. They sat there for a few long moments in silence. Sansa sat perfectly still, statuesque almost, and deep in thought. 

"Sansa..." He let out a long exhale. She stood up calmly and faced him, her eyes cool as she took a long slow breath through her nose. "Why Sansa? Why couldn't you have at least told me?" 

"Jon, you don't understand." 

Jon felt the wave of exhaustion. An impenetrable fortress. He wasn't angry, but the last thing, the very last thing he wanted to do today... 

"No, I guess I don't." Jon exited the room, closing the door behind him.


	13. Your Name Will Disappear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa can't sleep.

"I'm sorry." Sansa whispered to Jon as he lay sleeping in his former bed. Night had fallen. Sansa hadn't slept in days, so the day went by both slowly, yet memory wise, in an instant. "I know you are angry with me. I won't pretend that I don't understand." Despite the victory, despite the justice, despite killing Ramsey, Sansa still had a hole in her heart. Jon was safe, but she lost him still. She didn't know what it would take to find him again. To mend this brokenness, she would have to let go, and she couldn't do that. She was incapable of it. "What you don't understand is that I need you." She said quite a bit softer. 

She liked to stare at him in his sleep. He was a beautiful boy, he had always been. His features were chiseled like a statue, yet they were kind. His face was the picture of youth, yet his eyes were old and had seen far beyond his years. There was a heartbreaking sadness to his face that she had always known. When he did smile, she melted. People used to praise his strong Northern features, never to him however, and no doubt only adding fire to her mother's resentment. It seemed like all his life he had been dealt this hand. The cursed, tragically beautiful, bastard boy of Winterfell. His face had been cleaned up for the most part. No doubt he did it himself. Sansa would have helped him had this day not been so terrible. He looked peaceful, it was an old familiar look. He looked like her father did when last they were all home. 

Even with Ramsey dead and with her back in Winterfell, she didn't feel much safer. Now Petyr was there, and she was in his debt. Ramsey may have been a monster, but Petyr was much smarter. She understood him well, and so she feared him. Jon was still there for her, but he barely spoke to her. She was glad he was asleep now. His exhaustion became evident while they were helping clear the courtyard. She didn't know him to get much sleep in the first place, let alone with a war going on. 

Sansa noticed a bit of fresh blood on his temple, and realized there was a gash that had been hidden in the unruly mess of curls. His hair had been better cleaned, but his head wounds not properly treated. Sansa found a wash basin someone had left him in the corner of the room. They had offered him her parent's room, but Jon opted to sleep here, at least for the night. Sansa wasn't surprised. The air in the room was still thick and stale and Bolton. Sansa had only peeked in when the smell overwhelmed her. It smelled like Ramsey, that made her feel awful. They would strip the rooms tomorrow and clear out anything that wasn't Stark. That couldn't happen soon enough.

Sansa lightly padded the blood that had crusted on top of his ear, working her way around the wound and ever so gently moving thick black curls out of the way. Sansa reached the wound and padded it even gentler. Jon woke abruptly, yelped, and grabbed hold of her wrist. Sansa gasped.

"It's me, Jon!" Jon's eyes adjusted in the candlelight, yet his face remained alarmed. 

"What are you doing here at this hour?" He asked, his eyes wild, his hand still gripping her wrist tightly.

"I... I... I don't know!" The panic betrayed her voice. Jon loosened his grip, dropping his hand across himself, pulling her wrist down with it. Sansa kneeled beside the bed.

"What do you know?" He asked quietly.

"I beg your pardon?" 

"No need for formalities, Sansa. I'm your brother." The word send a strange sensation through them both. Brother. "You have intent, yet when I ask your reasoning, you always seem to forget." That stung her, but it wasn't unfair. He didn't trust her, she knew that, but now he seemed to have a suspicion about her. She needed to make him trust her again, they couldn't go on like this. Yet, at the moment, she couldn't find the words to explain herself, not while he was angry with her. She thought she knew him, but this was a whole new side of him. How could she trust someone she didn't know?

"I came in here to make sure you were in the castle still. I haven't heard a word from you since the feast, and people were asking." She was telling the truth, but had omitted the part about her needing him to soothe her fears. She couldn't sleep alone in her room. She had been allowed there a few times while she was under Bolton control, and it left her with bad memories. She wasn't allowed to stay there. She was kept locked away in a tower. Jon released her wrist, yet she didn't move if from beneath his hand. "Did you have a bad dream?"

"Horrible dream." He answered with a surprising amount of vulnerability. He studied her face. She didn't put her walls up when he did so. She wanted to talk to the man she knew. "I'm sorry for earlier today. It was not the time for that."

"No, I understand."

"I was exhausted"

"As was I." Now they had someplace to go. "I can't sleep."

"Neither can I."

"You were pretty asleep when I found you."

"I was pretty?" Jon smiled at her with his eyes. 

"Yes." She said, a full smile slowly stretching across her face. They let that moment sink in. 

"It's not really sleeping." Jon said. "I am fighting for my life in every dream, I wake up just as exhausted." Jon took her rag and held it to the gash that was still bleeding. "It's no use."

"I can relate." She said solemnly. 

"Did you try sleeping in your room?"

"Of course, where else would I go?" Jon thought for a moment.

"Good point." He looked at her with sympathy. Maybe her thoughts on him were premature. "Have you gone into the master bedroom yet?"

"I couldn't even get through the door." Sansa sighed and looked out the far window at the blackness of the night. "This place- The banners are up, yet it still doesn't feel like home. It still feels like it's infiltrated. I still feel..." ...infiltrated.

Jon rose from his bed and picked up her candle.

"Follow me."

 

Jon led her through the cold dark stony corridors to her parent's bedroom.

"I can't go in there." She said, looking absolutely petrified. 

"It's just Father's room." He said with a smile. "It never wasn't." Sansa stood there not moving, her arms crossed tightly. "You don't have to come in if you don't want to, but it will be warmer." He opened the door and stepped inside. He quickly set to lighting all the candles and the fireplace and throwing open all the windows. All of Ramsey's belongings had been removed. Jon had ordered that this room be cleared before all of the others. "There's no one here." he said "Just me. Just your family."

Sansa walked timidly into the room, a shiver rippling through her as she did. He watched her in silence as she took in the sight. Her face grew red and her eyes began to well.

"Sansa?" She didn't respond. She was somewhere else. "He can't hurt you anymore Sansa."

"Yes he can." With that, she began to cry. Jon crossed over and held her. 

"Not if I can help it." He said. She cried harder. "I'm sorry Sansa, this was a bad idea. I'm so sorry." Her face was buried in her neck. "Let's leave."

"No." She looked up at him as if she had an epiphany. "He's leaving." She looked around again as if she were seeing it for the first time. "The windows, the fire, your scent- it's... it's chasing him away."

"Then we should stay. Let's rid him of this place. Let's make it as if he was never here. We rule Winterfell, after all. This room belongs to you now."

"No, I can't live in here alone. We will share it."

"I'm not sure how that will look."

"You take this room officially. It is an upgrade from your former chambers." Jon smiled. He knew he couldn't do that, but he wasn't going to argue. He wanted to obey her every command.

"Well, I best be off to bed then. It is very late." He removed his coat and hung it up before crossing over to the bed. "Would you like to join me?" Sansa smiled.

"I actually haven't slept in this bed since I was a child." Jon was tinged by the thought of Ramsey sending her to her prison cell after he was done torturing her. The poor, broken, beautiful girl.

As they lie in bed, Jon thinks of the possibilities of a better plan. Being cold and untrusting to Sansa earlier had only made him feel worse and more restless. He still loved her with his entire being, despite himself, despite everything and everyone. He could kiss her now and forget about the rest for a moment, but he wouldn't. 

She fell asleep fast. He was relieved. She needed to sleep. All anger had subsided early, yet the sense of betrayal and sadness still threatened his mind. Littlefinger was still lurking about. Jon had noticed him staring at her countless times already. It was hard not to stare at her, he figured, but it was no excuse. It was a problem for another day, which he prayed they could overcome. But if they could get through this, what then? He would continue to be hopelessly in love with her. They probably wouldn't be able to share this bed every night. Someone would most likely notice in the morning, but he was too tired to care. These were all problems for another time. The solutions weren't obvious, but nothing had ever come easy for him, why would it now? All that mattered was that he was alive, Sansa was safe, the Boltons were defeated, and Ramsey was safe inside the bellies of his hounds. 

Jon turned to his side and stared at her as he slowly drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course he doesn't stay angry, it's Sansa!


	14. Innocently Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Winter is Here." Says Sansa.

Sansa found Jon on the castle wall watching the Red Woman ride off into the distance. A relief struck her watching the witch leave. Jon regarded her wearily before returning his gaze outward.

"I'm having the Lord's chamber prepared for you."

"Mother and Father's room?" The memories of Ramsey had been killed the night before, as she had vowed not to let him harm her anymore, but she still had not expected, nor desired, to take the room. "You should take it." He looked down and chuckled slightly.

"I'm not a stark." He continued staring out over the sea of snow.

"You are to me." Sansa studied him. His eyes drifted down. He seemed reluctant to accept her words. His features settled where they always had. Thoughtful and lost. Had he always felt so homeless? She looked out to catch his view of the snow falling. She wished she could take back the way she had contributed to those feelings as a child, but this was all she could offer him at the moment.

"You're the Lady of Winterfell. You deserve it. We're standing here because of you." Sansa looked back to him. Finally he had acknowledged her. Their time in Winterfell had been tense so far. Now that the shock and relief had set in, they could look at things from an outside perspective. That outside perspective didn't make her feel better about her actions, however. "The battle was lost until the Knights of the Vale rode in. They came because of you." Sansa breathed deeply, a hollow feeling forming in her stomach at his words. She hadn't been searching for affirmation, but the acknowledgment made her realize that Jon didn't see her as other men did. He wouldn't pass her efforts over. Now she just needed him to trust her enough to listen to her in the first place.

"You told me Lord Baelish sold you to the Boltons." He turned his gaze to her.

"He did." His eyes studied her profile intensely.

"And you trust him?" He was worried. He had every right to be worried. Sansa was worried too. She had only told him a small piece of the puzzle that was Littlefinger. The fight they had over his letter now seemed years ago.

"Only a fool would trust Littlefinger." His eyes were still on her. She couldn't help but be ambiguous, no doubt adding to his mistrust and suspicion over Baelish.

"I should have told you about him." She fell nervous. "About the Knights of the Vale." Not enough. "I'm sorry." She saw the sting in his eyes- the feeling that plagued them both still as he looked out once again over the changing season. He looked down and stepped in close to her.

"We need to trust eachother. We can't fight a war amongst ourselves, we have so many enemies now." Her mistrust over his actions proved to be somewhat justified, but it still felt like a betrayal. What he was really telling her was that she needed to trust and put her belief in him. She should request for the same, but the words are lost on her as he reaches for the back of her head, bowing it gently so he can place a firm kiss her forehead. He held her there for a moment longer than what she had expected. She looked up at him after he slowly pulled away from her, his hand still on her head. She tried to meet his eyes but they had drifted off somewhere lower on her face. He caught himself and nodded slightly as if to assure their new solid ground. He reminded her of Father when he did so. Sansa couldn't help but feel as if they were standing over a frozen lake.

"Jon..." She said as he turned to leave. "A raven came from the Citadel today. A white raven." She took a deep breath, not knowing the impact the information would have. "Winter is here." She hadn't expected his furrowed brow to lift at the humor in her statement. She had expected more concern, instead she watched him fight the smile from stretching across his weary face. She fought from smiling herself, which caused him to lose their impromptu contest and smile up childishly at the silver sky.

"Well, Father always promised didn't he?" He offered, smiling in such a boyish way that she had to save the image in her head. And in that moment, nothing else was important. They pushed threats and sorrow far off into the distance, further into the winter. They were children in Winterfell with all the prospects in the world. They had their home and their Father to guide them, and nothing that could separate them.

Sansa looked out at the white plains that stretched as far as she could see. There was nothing else but snow and Winterfell. She took a moment to take in the feeling- how cold her face was, how much snow was falling, how bright the day had been, and how it felt to let her anxieties go. She wanted to remember this day -the day winter finally came. The day her father's promise was fulfilled. The day she would be at peace- if only for the moment.

 

Jon walked away from Sansa with an old, familiar feeling that made him regret fleeing from her so suddenly. It reminded him of when they sat chatting over the fire with that Gods awful ale at Castle Black. He thought about maybe bringing Sansa some good ale later, but then thought better of it. There were more important things to think about.

He had resolved that there were perhaps too many looming threats and too much to prepare for to be focusing all of his energy on Sansa. Still, Sansa helped. He felt warmth when he was around her, a warmth that was so close to the warmth he felt before he died. Without her he became more of shell- more of a ghost, he thought. He was so close, so close to feeling truly alive again, but he always had to pull himself away. There were too many threats already.  _Winter is here._

And now, it seemed, he had to worry about Baelish's motivations. He was relieved that Sansa didn't trust him, but her thoughts on the subject troubled him no less. He knew from watching Baelish of his infatuation for Sansa. He not only could see it, but he could understand it- and that was what worried him most of all. He also had a thirst for power that seemed to be his driving force. He did not seem too concerned with saving the lives of thousands of Jon's men, so how much must he think of Jon? If he thought Jon naive, he would let him think so.

Jon stopped himself when he realized his main concern with Baelish was only important because of Sansa. He had found another way for her to take over his mind, when the dead were coming. He had to let it go and trust Sansa to take care of herself in regards to Baelish. Baelish couldn't possibly get away with carrying her off into the night, so Jon thought he shouldn't be so concerned. He just hoped Sansa would trust him.

He ran down the steps of the tower and hurried across the courtyard. Men were coming up everywhere to ask him questions. He wanted to be alone now. He had no desire to rule all of these people, he was here to warn them and rally them for the threat to come. He dismissed nearly everyone save for a few Wildlings with smaller concerns, and told everyone their questions would be addressed at the council that evening. He would sit next to his sister, the Lady of Winterfell. It wasn't his place, he knew that, but that's where they wanted him to be. At least he could be up there with Sansa. 

Ale aside and he was so close to pressing his lips to hers only a few minutes ago. Gods damn him, he needed to treat her like a sister. He needed to see her as his sister. What was wrong with him? She had named him a Stark. He knew it wasn't true, deep within him he knew it would never be true, but he at least should have been touched to hear her say that. He was, but the fact that it had been her to say it was conflicting. Then, in his honest attempt to do something father would do by kissing her forehead, all he could think about was how warm and alive he felt at this innocent contact. He had held her to him longer than he had intended, pulling away from her to find her eyes lowered. Then she looked up, the summer sky flashing brightly back at him, reminding him of the warmth. There was still a hint of sadness and concern. His eyes trailed to her lovely mouth, wanting to kiss her weariness away. He couldn't very well keep making excuses to make physical contact with her, but it seemed he couldn't help himself. It would always start out innocently enough and end up like this. Gods, something was wrong with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for posting this so late. I started working on this chapter Sunday night, right after the finale, but I wanted to get this scene just right since it seems so important. 
> 
> Their attitude during the whole thing was a whirlwind of emotions, but it was yet so subtle. 
> 
> I think this may have been the hardest chapter to write- and it's the only one I have that is mainly the exact scene from the show. I think it's because I kept questioning my opinion on Sansa's character and motivations. I never suspected her of being truly deviant, but I didn't want to be unrealistic with her. She is a complex character- and a teenage girl! So her emotions can be either super easy or super hard to decipher, and I always wish to do her justice while still shedding light on the fact that she's still only human. 
> 
> Anyway- I still have places to go! I hope you enjoy! More to come! 
> 
> (hopefully faster this time.)


End file.
